\ 


m. 

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-Olive-Percival 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


/ 


MIRANDA   OF   THE    BALCONY 


•N* 


■The 


MIRANDA 


OF    THE    BALCONY 


A   STORT 


BY 

A.   E.   W.   MASON 

AUTHOR    OF    "THE    COURTSHIP    OF    MORRICE    BUCKLER,"    ETC. 


ftefo  gorft 
THE    MACMILLAN    COMPANY 

LONDON  :    MACMILLAN  &  CO.,  Ltd. 
1899 

All  rights  reserved 


Copyright,   1899, 
By  THE   MACMILLAN   COMPANY. 


Set  up  and  electrotyped  August,  1899.    Reprinted  October, 
1899. 


Norwood  Press 

jf.  S.  Cashing  &  Co.  —  Berwick  &  Smith 

Norwood,  Mass.,   U.S.A. 


PAGB 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  I 

IN    WHICH    A    SHORT-SIGHTED    TAXIDERMIST    FROM    TAN- 
GIER  MAKES   A   DISCOVERY   UPON   ROSEVEAR         .  .  I 

CHAPTER  II 

PRESENTS  THE    HERO   IN  THE   UNHEROIC   ATTITUDE   OF   A 

SPECTATOR J3 

CHAPTER   III 

TREATS   OF  A  GENTLEMAN   WITH  AN  AGREEABLE   COUNTE- 
NANCE  AND   OF   A   WOMAN'S   FACE   IN   A   MIRROR  .         28 

CHAPTER   IV 

TREATS     OF     THE     FIRST    MEETING     BETWEEN    CHARNOCK 

AND   MIRANDA 39 

CHAPTER   V 

WHEREIN     CHARNOCK     AND     MIRANDA      IMPROVE      THEIR 

ACQUAINTANCESHIP   IN   A    BALCONY    .  .  .  •         52 


tsaiy- 


vi  CONTENTS 

CHAPTER   VI 

PAGE 

WHILE    CHARNOCK    BUILDS    CASTLES    IN    SPAIN,    MIRANDA 

RETURNS   THERE     64 

CHAPTER  VII 

IN  WHICH  MAJOR  WILBRAHAM  DESCRIBES  THE  STEPS 
BY  WHICH  HE  ATTAINED  HIS  MAJORITY  AND  GIVES 
MIRANDA   SOME   PARTICULAR   INFORMATION  .  .  7 1 

CHAPTER  VIII 

EXPLAINS  THE   MYSTERY   OF   THE    "  TARIFA'S  "    CARGO        .       IOO 

CHAPTER  IX 

SHOWS  THE   USE   WHICH   A   BLIND    MAN    MAY    MAKE   OF  A 

DARK   NIGHT 117 

CHAPTER  X 

M.    FOURNIER    EXPOUNDS   THE    ADVANTAGES   WHICH    EACH 

SEX   HAS   OVER  THE   OTHER I  29 

CHAPTER  XI 

IN    WHICH    MIRANDA    ADOPTS    A    NEW    LINE    OF    CONDUCT 

AND   THE   MAJOR   EXPRESSES   SOME   DISCONTENT  .       155 

CHAPTER  XII 

THE     HERO,     LIKE     ALL     HEROES,    FINDS     HIMSELF     IN    A 

FOG 160 


CONTENTS  vii 

CHAPTER  XIII 

PAGE 

WHEREIN  THE   HERO'S  PERPLEXITIES  INCREASE         .  .      180 

CHAPTER  XIV 

MIRANDA   PROFESSES   REGRET   FOR  A   PRACTICAL  JOKE       .       I91 

CHAPTER  XV 

IN     WHICH     THE     MAJOR     LOSES     HIS     TEMPER    AND     RE- 
COVERS   IT 204 

CHAPTER  XVI 

EXPLAINS    WHY   CHARNOCK    SAW   MIRANDA'S    FACE    IN    HIS 

MIRROR 219 

CHAPTER  XVII 

SHOWS    HOW   A  TOMBSTONE    MAY   CONVINCE   WHEN   ARGU- 
MENTS  FAIL 232 

CHAPTER  XVIII 

IN     WHICH     THE     TAXIDERMIST     AND     A     BASHA     PREVAIL 

OVER   A    BLIND    MAN  ......       245 

CHAPTER  XIX 

TELLS    OF    CHARNOCK'S    WANDERINGS    IN    MOROCCO    AND 

OF  A   WALNUT- WOOD   DOOR 255 

CHAPTER  XX 

CHARNOCK,     LIKE    THE    TAXIDERMIST,     FINDS    WARRINER 

ANYTHING    BUT   A   COMFORTABLE   COMPANION       .  .       267 


viii  CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  XXI 

PAGB 

COMPLETES    THE    JOURNEYINGS     OF     THIS     INCONGRUOUS 

COUPLE 283 

CHAPTER  XXII 

IN  WHICH   CHARNOCK  ASTONISHES   RALPH  WARRINER         .       297 

CHAPTER  XXIII 

RELATES  A   SECOND    MEETING    BETWEEN    CHARNOCK   AND 

MIRANDA 303 

CHAPTER  XXIV 

A    MIST    IN    THE    CHANNEL    ENDS,    AS    IT    BEGAN,    THE 

BOOK 3°7 


MIRANDA  OF  THE  BALCONY 


CHAPTER   I 

IN    WHICH    A    SHORT-SIGHTED     TAXIDERMIST    FROM 
TANGIER    MAKES    A    DISCOVERY    UPON     ROSEVEAR 

The  discovery  made  a  great  stir  amongst  the 
islands,  and  particularly  at  St.  Mary's.  In  the 
square  space  before  the  Customs'  House,  on  the 
little  stone  jetty,  among  the  paths  through  the 
gorse  of  the  Garrison,  it  became  the  staple  subject 
of  gossip,  until  another  ship  came  ashore  and  other 
lives  were  lost.  For  quite  apart  from  its  odd  cir- 
cumstances, a  certain  mystery  lent  importance  to 
Ralph  Warriner.  It  transpired  that  nearly  two 
years  before,  when  on  service  at  Gibraltar,  Captain 
Warriner  of  the  Artillery  had  slipped  out  of  har- 
bour one  dark  night  in  his  yacht,  and  had  straight- 
way disappeared  ;  it  was  proved  that  subsequently 
he  had  been  dismissed  from  the  service ;  and  the 
coroner  of  St.  Mary's  in  a  moment  of  indiscretion 
let  slip  the  information  that  the  Home  Office  had 
requested  him  to  furnish  it  with  a  detailed  history 
of  the  facts.     The  facts  occurred  in  this  sequence. 


z  MIRANDA    OF   THE   BALCONY        chap. 

At  seven  o'clock  of  a  morning  in  the  last  week 
of  July,  the  St.  Agnes  lugger  which  carries  the 
relief  men  to  and  fro  between  the  Trinity  House 
barracks  upon  St.  Mary's  and  the  Bishop  Light- 
house in  the  Atlantic,  ran  alongside  of  St.  Mary's 
pier.  There  were  waiting  upon  the  steps,  the  two 
lighthouse  men,  and  a  third,  a  small  rotund  Belgian 
of  a  dark,  shiny  countenance  which  seemed  always 
on  the  point  of  perspiring.  He  was  swathed  in  a 
borrowed  suit  of  oilskins  much  too  large  for  him, 
and  would  have  cut  a  comical  figure  had  he  not  on 
that  raw  morning  looked  supremely  unhappy  and 
pathetic.  M.  Claude  Fournier  was  a  taxidermist 
by  profession  and  resided  at  Tangier ;  he  was 
never  backward  in  declaring  that  the  evidences 
of  his  skill  decorated  many  entrance-halls  through- 
out Europe ;  and  some  three  weeks  before  he  had 
come  holiday-making  alone  to  the  islands  of  Scilly. 

He  now  stood  upon  the  steps  of  the  pier  ner- 
vously polishing  his  glasses  as  the  lugger  swung 
upwards  and  downwards  on  the  swell.  He  watched 
the  relief  men  choose  their  time  and  spring  on 
board,  and  just  as  Zebedee  Isaacs,  the  master  of 
the  boat,  was  about  to  push  off  with  his  boat- 
hook,  he  nerved  himself  to  speak. 

"  I  go  with  you  to  the  Bishop,  is  it  not  ? " 

Isaacs  looked  up  in  surprise.  He  had  been 
wondering  what  had  brought  the  little  man  out  in 
this  dress  and  on  this  morning. 

"  There'll  be  a  head-wind  all  the  way,"  he  said 
discouragingly,  "  and  wi'  that  and  a  heavy  ground 
sea  we'll  be  brave  an'  wet  before  we  reach  the 
Bishop,  brave  an'  wet." 


i  MIRANDA    OF    THE    BALCONY  3 

"  I  do  not  mind,"  replied  M.  Fournier.  "  For 
the  sea,  I  am  divot ;  "  but  his  voice  was  tremulous 
and  belied  him. 

Isaacs  shook  his  head. 

"  It's  not  only  the  sea.  Look  !  "  And  he 
stretched  out  his  arm.  A  variable  fog  rolled  and 
tumbled  upon  a  tumbling  wilderness  of  sea.  "  I'ld 
sooner  have  two  gales  lashed  together  than  sail 
amongst  these  islands  in  a  fog.  I'ld  never  go  to-day 
at  all,  but  the  boat's  more'n  three  weeks  overdue." 

Indeed,  as  M.  Fournier  looked  seawards,  there 
was  no  glimpse  of  land  visible.  A  fortnight  of 
heavy  weather  had  been  followed  by  a  week  of 
fog  which  enveloped  the  islands  like  a  drenched 
blanket.  Only  to-day  had  it  shown  any  signs  of 
breaking,  and  the  St.  Agnes  lugger  was  the  first 
boat,  so  far  as  was  known,  to  run  the  hazard  of 
the  sea.  It  is  true  that  two  days  before  one  man 
had  run  in  to  the  bar  of  Tregarthen's  Hotel  and 
told  how  he  had  stood  upon  the  top  of  the 
Garrison  and  had  looked  suddenly  down  a  lane 
between  two  perpendicular  walls  of  mist,  and  had 
seen  the  water  breaking  white  upon  Great  Smith 
Rock,  and  in  the  near  distance  an  open  boat  under 
a  mizzen  and  a  jib,  beating  out  through  the  heavy 
swell  towards  the  west.  But  his  story  was  in  no 
wise  believed. 

To  all  of  Isaacs's  objections  M.  Fournier  was 
impervious,  and  he  was  at  last  allowed  to  embark. 

"Now!"  cried  Zebedee  Isaacs,  as  the  lugger 
rose.  M.  Fournier  gave  a  pathetic  look  back- 
wards to  the  land,  shut  his  eyes  and  jumped. 
Isaacs  caught  and  set  him  upon  the  floor  of  the 


4  MIRANDA    OF   THE   BALCONY        chap. 

boat,  where  he  stood  clutching  the  runners.  He 
saw  the  landing-steps  dizzily  rush  past  him  up  to 
the  sky  like  a  Jacob's  ladder,  and  then  as  dizzily 
shut  downwards  below  him  like  a  telescope. 

The  boat  was  pushed  off.  It  rounded  the  pier- 
head and  beat  out  on  its  first  tack,  across  the 
Road.  M.  Fournier  crouched  down  under  the 
shelter  of  the  weather  bulwark. 

"As  for  the  sea  I  am  d'evot"  he  murmured, 
with  a  watery  smile. 

In  a  little  the  boat  was  put  about.  From  Sour 
Milk  Ledge  it  was  sailed  on  the  port  tack  towards 
Great  Minalto,  and  felt  the  wind  and  felt  the  sea. 
It  climbed  up  waves  till  the  red  lug-sail  swung 
over  M.  Fournier's  head  like  a  canopy  ;  and  on 
the  downward  slope  the  heavy  bows  took  the 
water  with  a  thud.  M.  Fournier  knelt  up  and 
clung  to  the  stays.  At  all  costs  he  must  see.  He 
stared  into  the  shifting  fog  at  the  rollers  which 
came  hopping  and  leaping  towards  him ;  and  he 
was  very  silent  and  very  still,  as  though  the 
fascination  of  terror  enchained  him. 

On  the  third  tack,  however,  he  began  to  resume 
his  courage.  He  even  smiled  over  his  shoulder 
towards  Zebedee  Isaacs  at  the  tiller. 

"As  for  the  sea,"  he  began  to  say,  "I  am — " 
But  the  statement,  which  he  was  not  to  verify 
on  this  day,  ended  in  a  shriek.  For  at  that 
moment  a  great  green  wave  hopped  exultingly  over 
the  bows,  and  thenceforward  all  the  way  to  the 
Bishop  the  lugger  shipped  much  water. 

M.  Fournier's  behaviour  became  deplorable. 
As  Isaacs  bluntly  and  angrily  summarised  it,  "he 


i  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY  5 

lay  upon  the  thwarts  and  screeched  like  a  rook ; " 
and  in  his  appeals  to  his  mother  he  was  quite 
conventionally  French. 

He  made  no  attempt  to  land  upon  the  Light- 
house. The  relief  men  were  hoisted  up  in  the 
sling,  the  head-keeper  and  one  of  his  assistants 
were  lowered,  and  the  lugger  started  upon  its 
homeward  run  before  the  wind.  The  fog 
thickened  and  lightened  about  them  as  they 
threaded  the  intricate  channels  of  the  western 
islands.  Now  it  was  a  thin  grey  mist,  parting  here 
and  there  in  long  corridors,  driven  this  way  and 
that,  twirling  in  spires  of  smoke,  shepherded  by  the 
winds ;  now  again  it  hung  close  about  them  an 
impenetrable  umber,  while  the  crew  in  short  quick 
tones  and  gestures  of  the  arms  mapped  out  the 
rocks  and  passages.  About  them  they  could  hear 
the  roar  of  the  breaking  waves  and  the  rush  of 
water  up  slabs  and  over  ledges,  and  then  the 
"  glumph  glumph  "  as  the  wave  sucked  away.  At 
times,  too,  the  fog  lifted  from  the  surface  and 
hung  very  low,  massed  above  their  heads,  so  that 
the  black  hillocks  of  the  islets  stood  out  in  the 
sinister  light  like  headstones  of  a  cemetery  of  the 
sea,  and  at  the  feet  of  them  the  water  was  white 
like  a  flash  of  hungry  teeth. 

It  was  at  one  such  moment,  when  the  boat 
had  just  passed  through  Crebawethan  Neck,  that 
M.  Fournier,  who  had  been  staring  persistently 
over  the  starboard  bulwark,  suddenly  startled  the 
crew. 

"There's   a  ship   on   shore.      Tenez  —  look  ! ' 
he  cried.     "  There,  there  ! '      And  as   he  spoke 


6  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY         chap. 

the    mist   drove  between   his  eyes   and  what   he 
declared  that  he  saw. 

Zebedee  Isaacs  looked  in  the  direction. 

"  On  Jacky's  Rock  ?  "  he  asked,  nodding  to- 
wards a  menacing  column  of  black  rock  which 
was  faintly  visible. 

"  No, no  —  beyond! — There!"  AndM.Four- 
nier  excitedly  gesticulated.  He  seemed  at  that 
moment  to  have  lost  all  his  terror  of  the  sea. 

"  On  Rosevear,  then,"  said  the  keeper  of  the 
lighthouse,  and  he  strained  towards  Rosevear. 

"I  see  nothing,"  he  said,  "and  —  " 

"  There's  nothing  to  see,"  replied  Isaacs,  who 
did  not  alter  his  course. 

"  But  it's  true,"  exclaimed  the  little  Belgian. 
"  I  see  it  no  more  myself.  But  I  have  seen  it, 
I  tell  you.  I  have  seen  the  mast  above  the 
island  —  " 

"  You  !  "  interrupted  Isaacs,  with  a  blunt  con- 
tempt;  "you  are  blind!"  And  M.  Fournier, 
before  anyone  could  guess  his  intention,  flung 
himself  upon  Isaacs  and  jammed  the  tiller  hard 
over  to  port.  The  boat  came  broadside  to  the 
wind,  heeled  over,  and  in  a  second  the  water  was 
pouring  in  over  the  gunwale.  Zebedee  wrenched 
the  main  sheet  off  the  pin,  and  let  the  big  sail 
fly  ;  another  loosed  the  jib.  The  promptitude 
of  these  two  men  saved  the  boat.  It  ran  its 
head  up  into  the  wind,  righted  itself  upon  its 
keel,  and  lay  with  flapping  sails  and  shivered. 

Isaacs  without  a  word  caught  hold  of  M. 
Fournier  and  shook  him  like  a  rat ;  and  every 
man  of  the  crew  in  violent  tones  expounded  to 


i  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY  7 

the  Belgian  the  enormity  of  his  crime.  Fournier 
was  himself  well-nigh  frantic  with  excitement. 
He  was  undaunted  by  any  threats  of  violence ; 
neither  the  boat,  nor  the  sea,  nor  the  crew  had 
any  terrors  for  him. 

"  There  is  a  ship  !  "  he  screamed.  "  The  fog 
was  vanished — just  for  a  second  it  was  vanished, 
and  I  have  seen  it.  There  may  be  men  alive  on 
that  rock  —  starving,  perishing,  men  of  the  sea 
like  you.  You  will  not  leave  them.  But  you 
shall  not !  "  And  clinging  to  the  mast  he  stamped 
his  feet.     "  But  you  shall  not !  " 

"  And  by  the  Lord  he's  right,"  said  the  light- 
house-keeper, gravely  —  so  gravelv  that  complete 
silence  at  once  fell  upon  the  crew.  One  man 
stood  up  in  the  bows,  a  second  knelt  upon  the 
thwarts,  a  third  craned  his  body  out  beyond  the 
stern,  and  all  with  one  accord  stared  towards 
Rosevear.  The  screen  of  haze  was  drawn  aside, 
and  quite  clear  to  the  view  over  a  low  rock,  rose 
the  mast  and  tangled  cordage  of  a  wreck. 

The  sheets  were  made  fast  without  a  word. 
Without  a  word,  Zebedee  Isaacs  put  the  boat 
about  and  steered  it  into  the  Neck  between 
Rosevear  and  Rosevean.  As  they  passed  along 
that  narrow  channel,  no  noise  was  heard  but  the 
bustle  of  the  tide.  For  at  the  western  end  they 
saw  the  bows  of  a  ship  unsteadily  poised  upon 
a  ledge.  There  was  a  breach  amidships,  the 
stern  was  under  water,  only  the  foremast  stood; 
and  nowhere  was  there  any  sign  of  life. 

Isaacs  brought  the  boat  to  in  a  tiny  creek, 
some  distance  from  the  wreck. 


8  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONT         chap. 

"  We  can  land  here,"  he  said,  and  the  light- 
house-keeper and  Fournier  stepped  ashore. 

On  the  instant  that  quiet,  silent  islet  whirred 
into  life  and  noise.  So  startling  was  the  change 
that  M.  Fournier  iumped  backwards  while  his 
heart  jerked  within  him. 

"  What's  that  ?  "  he  cried,  and  then  laughed 
as  he  understood.  For  a  cloud  of  puffins,  gulls, 
kittiwakes  and  shearwaters  whirled  upwards  from 
that  nursery  of  sea-birds  and  circled  above  his 
head,  their  cries  sounding  with  infinite  melancholy, 
their  wings  flickering  like  silver  in  that  grey  and 
desolate  light. 

"  It's  so  like  your  Robinson  Crusoe,"  said 
M.  Fournier. 

"  It  is  more  like  our  islands  of  Scilly,"  said 
the  lighthouse-keeper,  as  he  looked  towards  the 
wreck. 

They  climbed  over  the  low  rocks  and  walked 
along  the  crown  of  the  island  towards  the  wreck. 
There  was  no  tree  or  shrub  upon  the  barren 
soil,  only  here  a  stretch  of  sandy  grass,  there  a 
patch  of  mallows  —  mallows  of  a  rusty  green 
and  whitened  with  salt  of  the  sea.  In  the  midst 
of  one  such  patch  they  came  upon  the  body  of 
a  man.  He  was  dressed  in  a  pilot  coat,  sea 
boots  and  thick  stockings  drawn  over  his  trousers 
to  the  hips,  and  he  lay  face  downwards  with  his 
head  resting  upon  his  arms  in  a  natural  posture 
of  sleep. 

Fournier  stood  still.  The  lighthouse-keeper 
walked  forward  and  tapped  the  sleeper  upon  the 
shoulder.     But  the  sleeper  did  not  wake.     The 


i  MIRANDA    OF   THE   BALCONY  9 

lighthouse  man  knelt  down  and  gently  turned 
the  man  over  upon  his  back ;  as  he  did  so,  or 
rather  just  before  he  did  so,  Fournier  turned 
sharply  away  with  a  shudder.  When  the  sailor 
was  lying  upon  his  back,  the  keeper  of  the  light- 
house started  with  something  of  a  shudder  too. 
For  the  sailor  had  no  face. 

The  lighthouse  man  drew  his  handkerchief  from 
his  pocket  and  gently  covered  the  head.  It  seemed 
almost  as  if  Fournier  had  been  waiting,  had  been 
watching,  for  this  action.  For  he  turned  about 
immediately  and  stood  by  the  lighthouse-keeper's 
side.     Above  the  lonelv  islet  the  sea-birds  circled 

J 

and  called ;  on  the  sea  the  mist  was  now  no  more 
than  a  gauze,  and  through  it  the  glow  of  the  sun 
was  faintly  diffused. 

"Strange  that,  isn't  it?"  said  the  lighthouse- 
keeper,  in  a  hushed  voice.  "  The  sea  dashed  him 
upon  the  rocks  and  drew  him  down  again  and 
threw  him  up  again  until  it  got  tired  of  the  sport, 
and  so  tossed  him  here  to  lie  quietly  face  down- 
wards amongst  the  mallows  like  a  man  asleep." 

Then  he  sat  back  upon  his  heels  and  measured 
the  distance  between  the  mallows  and  the  sea  with 
some  perplexity  upon  his  forehead  —  and  the  per- 
plexity grew. 

"  It's  a  long  way  for  the  sea  to  have  thrown 
him,"  he  said,  and  as  Fournier  shifted  restlessly  at 
his  side,  he  looked  up  into  his  face.  "  Good  God, 
man,  but  you  look  white,"  he  said. 

"  The  sight  is  terrible,"  replied  Fournier,  as  he 
wiped  his  forehead. 

The  lighthouse-keeper  nodded  assent. 


io  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY         chap. 

"  Yes,  it's  a  terrible  place,  the  sea  about  these 
western  islands,"  he  said.  "  Did  you  ever  hear 
tell  that  there  are  sunken  cities  all  the  way  between 
here  and  Land's  End,  the  sunken  cities  of  Lyon- 
nesse  ?  Terrible  sights  those  cities  must  see.  I 
often  think  of  the  many  ships  which  have  plunged 
down  among  their  chimneys  and  roof-tops  —  per- 
haps here  a  great  Spanish  galleon  with  its  keel  along 
the  middle  of  a  paved  square  and  its  poop  over- 
hanging the  gables,  and  the  fishes  swimming  in 
and  out  of  the  cabins  through  the  broken  windows ; 
perhaps  there  a  big  three-decker  like  Sir  Cloudesley 
Shovel's,  showing  the  muzzles  of  her  silent  guns  ; 
or  a  little  steam-tramp  of  our  own  times,  its  iron 
sides  brown  with  rust,  and  God  knows  what 
tragedy  hidden  in  its  tiny  engine-room.  A 
terrible  place  —  these  islands  of  Scilly,  dwelling 
amongst  the  seas,  as  the  old  books  say  —  dwelling 
amongst  the  seas." 

He  bent  forward  and  unfastened  the  dead  sailor's 
pilot  jacket.  Then  he  felt  in  his  pocket  and  drew 
out  an  oilskin  case.  This  he  opened,  and  Fournier 
knelt  beside  him. 

There  were  a  few  letters  in  the  case,  which  the 
two  men  read  through.  They  were  of  no  par- 
ticular importance  beyond  that  they  were  headed 
"  Yacht  The  Ten  Brothers,"  and  they  were  signed 
"  Ralph  Warriner,"  all  of  them  except  one.  This 
one  was  a  love-letter  of  a  date  six  years  back.  It  was 
addressed  to  "  Ralph,"  and  was  signed  "  Miranda." 

"  Six  years  old,"  said  the  lighthouse-keeper. 
"  For  six  years  he  has  carried  that  about  with 
him,  and  now  it  will   be   read   out  in  court   to 


i  MIR  AND  J    OF    THE   BALCONY  n 

make  a  sorry  fun  for  people  whom  he  never 
knew.  That's  hard  on  him,  eh  ?  But  harder  on 
the  woman." 

At  the  words, spoken  in  a  low  voice,  M.  Fournier 
moved  uneasily  and  seemed  to  wince.  The  light- 
house-keeper held  the  letter  in  his  hands  and 
thoughtfully  turned  over  its  pages. 

"  I  have  a  mind  to  tear  it  up,  but  I  suppose  I 
must  not."  He  returned  the  papers  to  the  oilskin 
case,  and  going  back  to  the  boat  called  for  two  of 
the  crew  to  carry  the  body  down.  "  Meanwhile," 
said  he  to  Fournier,  "  we  might  have  a  look  at 
1  The  Ten  Brothers.'  " 

They  could  not  approach  the  bows  of  the  ship, 
but  overlooked  them  from  a  pinnacle  of  rock. 
There  was,  however,  little  to  be  remarked. 

"  She  is  an  old  boat,  and  she  has  seen  some 
weather  from  the  look  of  her,"  said  the  lighthouse- 
keeper.  That,  indeed,  was  only  to  be  expected, 
for  "  The  Ten  Brothers  "  had  been  a  trader  before 
Ralph  Warriner  bought  her,  and  two  years  had 
elapsed  between  the  night  when  he  slipped  from 
Gibraltar  Harbour,  and  the  dav  when  this  boat 
came  to  its  last  moorings  upon  Rosevear. 

The  mist  cleared  altogether  towards  sunset. 
The  sun  shone  out  from  the  edge  of  the  horizon 
a  ball  of  red  fire,  and  the  lugger  ferried  the  dead 
body  back  to  St.  Mary's  over  a  sea  which  had  the 
colour  of  claret,  and  through  foam  ripples  which 
sparkled  like  gold. 

The  Miranda  who  wrote  the  love-letter  was 
Miranda  Warriner,  Ralph  Warriner's  wife. 
Miranda  Bedlow  she  had  been  at  the  date  which 


12  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY       chap,  i 

headed  the  letter.  She  was  living  now  at  Ronda 
in  the  Andalusian  hills,  a  hundred  miles  from 
Algeciras  and  Gibraltar,  and  had  lived  there 
since  her  husband's  disappearance.  To  Ronda 
the  oilskin  case  was  sent.  She  heard  the  news 
of  her  Ralph's  death  with  a  natural  sense  of 
solemnity,  but  she  was  too  sincere  a  woman  to 
assume  a  grief  which  she  could  not  feel.  For  her 
married  life  had  been  one  of  extraordinary  un- 
happiness. 


CHAPTER   II 

PRESENTS    THE    HERO    IN   THE    UNHEROIC    ATTITUDE 
OF    A    SPECTATOR 

It  was  Lady  Donnisthorpe  who  two  years 
later  introduced  Luke  Charnock  to  Mrs.  Warriner. 
Lady  Donnisthorpe  was  an  outspoken  woman  with 
an  untameable  passion  for  match-making,  which 
she  indulged  with  the  ardour  and,  indeed,  the 
results  of  an  amateur  chemist.  Her  life  was  spent 
in  mingling  incompatible  elements  and  producing 
explosions  to  which  her  enthusiasm  kept  her 
deaf,  even  when  thev  made  a  quite  astonishing 
noise.  For  no  experience  of  reverses  could  stale  her 
satisfaction  when  she  beheld  an  eligible  bachelor 
or  maid  walk  for  the  first  time  into  her  parlour. 

She  had  made  Charnock's  acquaintance  originally 
in  Barbados.  He  sat  next  her  at  a  dinner  given 
by  the  Governor  of  the  Island,  and  took  her  fancy 
with  the  pleasing  inconsistency  of  a  boyish  appear- 
ance and  a  wealth  of  experiences.  He  was  a  man 
of  a  sunburnt  aquiline  face,  which  was  lean  but 
not  haggard,  grey  and  very  steady  eyes,  and  a 
lithe,  tall  figure,  and  though  he  conveyed  an 
impression  of  activity,  he  was  still  a  restful  com- 
panion.     Lady  Donnisthorpe  remarked  in  him  a 

13 


14  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY  chap. 

modern  appreciation  of  the  poetry  of  machinery, 
and  after  dinner  made  inquiries  of  the  Governor. 

"  He  is  on  his  way  homewards  from  Peru," 
answered  the  latter.  "  He  has  been  surveying  for 
a  railway  line  there  during  the  last  two  years. 
What  do  you  think  of  him  ?  " 

"  I  want  to  know  what  you  think." 

"  I  like  him.  He  is  modest  without  diffidence, 
successful  without  notoriety." 

"  What  are  his  people  ? ':  asked  Lady 
Donnisthorpe. 

"  I  don't  believe  he  has  any.  But  I  believe  his 
father  was  a  clergyman  in  Yorkshire." 

"  It  would  sound  improper  for  a  girl  without 
visible  relations  to  say  that  she  was  the  daughter 
of  a  clergyman  in  Yorkshire,  wouldn't  it  ?  "  said 
her  ladyship,  reflectively.  "  But  I  suppose  it's 
no  objection  in  a  man  ;  "  and  in  her  memories  she 
made  a  mark  against  Charnock's  name.  She 
heard  of  him  again  once  or  twice  in  unexpected 
quarters  from  the  lips  of  the  men  who  from  East 
to  West  are  responsible  for  the  work  that  is  done  ; 
and  once  or  twice  she  met  him,  for  she  was  a 
determined  traveller.  Finally,  at  Cairo,  she  sat 
next  to  Sir  John  Martin,  the  head  partner  of  a 
great  Leeds  firm  of  railway  contractors. 

"  Did  you  ever  come  across  a  Mr.  Charnock  ?  " 
she  asked. 

The  head  partner  laughed. 

"  I  did  ;  I  knew  his  father." 

"  It's  a  strange  thing  about  Mr.  Charnock,"  said 
she,  "  but  one  never  hears  anything  of  what  he 
was  doing  before  the  last  few  years." 


n       MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY  15 

"  Why  not  ask  him  ?  "  said  the  North-country- 
man, bluntly. 

"  It  might  sound  inquisitive,"  replied  Lady 
Donnisthorpe,  "  and  perhaps  there's  no  need  to, 
if  you  know." 

"Yes,  I  know,"  returned  Sir  John,  with  a  great 
deal  of  provoking  amusement,  "and,  believe  me, 
Lady  Donnisthorpe,  it's  not  at  all  to  his  discredit." 

Lady  Donnisthorpe  began  thereafter  to  select 
and  reject  possible  wives  for  Charnock,  and  while 
still  undecided,  she  chanced  to  pass  one  Decem- 
ber through  Nice.  The  first  person  whom  she 
saw  in  the  vestibule  of  the  hotel  was  Luke 
Charnock. 

"  What  in  the  world  are  you  doing  here?  "  she 
asked. 

"  Taking  a  week's  holiday,  Lady  Donnisthorpe. 
I  hr..ve  been  in  Spain  for  the  last  two  years,  and 
shall  be  for  the  next  nine  months." 

"  In  Spain?  " 

"  I  am  making  a  new  line  between  Cadiz  and 
Algeciras." 

"  God  bless  the  man,  and  I  never  thought  of 
it!'  exclaimed  Lady  Donnisthorpe.  "I  think 
you  will  do,"  she  added,  looking  him  over,  and 
nodding  her  head. 

"  I  hope  so,"  replied  Charnock,  cheerfully. 
"  It's  a  big  lift  for  me." 

"  In  a  way,  no  doubt,"  agreed  her  ladyship. 
"Though,  mind  you,  the  land  isn't  what  it  was." 

"  The  railway  will  improve  it,"  said  Charnock. 

They  happened  to  be  talking  of  different  sub- 
jects,     Lady  Donnisthorpe  pursued  her  own. 


16  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY         chap. 

"Then  you  won't  be  in  England  for  a  year? ' 
she  said  regretfully. 

"  The  company  building  the  line  is  an  English 
one,"  replied  Charnock.  "  I  shall  have  to  see  the 
directors  in  June.     I  shall  be  in  London  then." 

"  Then  you  must  come  and  see  me.  Write 
before  you  leave  Spain.  Promise  !  "  said  Lady 
Donnisthorpe,  who  was  now  elated. 

Charnock  promised,  and  that  day  Lady  Donnis- 
thorpe wrote  to  her  cousin,  Miranda  Warriner,  at 
Ronda,  who  was  now  at  the  end  of  the  first 
year  of  her  widowhood,  and  of  the  third  year  of 
her  ridiculous  seclusion  at  that  little  hill-town  of 
Spain.  Miranda  was  entreated,  implored,  and 
commanded  to  come  to  London  in  May.  There 
was  the  season,  there  was  Miranda's  estate  in 
Suffolk,  which  needed  her  attention.  Miranda 
reluctantly  consented,  and  so  Lady  Donnisthorpe 
was  the  instrument  by  which  Charnock  and  Mrs. 
Warriner  became  acquainted.  But  the  founda- 
tions of  that  acquaintanceship  were  laid  without 
her  ladyship's  agency,  and  indeed  without  the 
knowledge  of  either  Charnock  or  Miranda. 

A  trifling  defect  in  the  machinery  of  a  P.  and 
O.  boat  began  it.  The  P.  and  O.  stayed  for  four 
days  at  Aden  to  make  repairs,  and  so  Charnock 
had  four  days  to  wait  at  Gibraltar  before  he  could 
embark  for  England.  He  did  not,  however, 
spend  more  than  two  of  those  four  days  at 
Gibraltar,  but  picking  up  a  yellow  handbill  in 
the  lounge  of  the  hotel,  he  obeyed  its  advice, 
and  crossing  the  sunlit  straits  early  the  next 
morning    saw    the  jealous    hills    about    Tangier 


u       MIRANDA    OF    THE    BALCONY  \j 

unfold  and  that  cardboard  city  glitter  down  to 
the  sea. 

He  was  rowed  ashore  to  the  usual  accompani- 
ment of  shouts  and  yells  by  a  villainous  boat's 
crew  of  Arabs.  A  mob  of  Barbary  Jews  screamed 
at  him  on  the  landing-stage,  and  then  a  Moorish 
boy  with  a  brown  roguish  face  who  was  dressed 
in  a  saffron  jellabia,  pushed  his  way  forwards  and 
in  a  conversational  voice  said,  "  You  English  ? 
God  damn  you,  give  me  a  penny  !  " 

Charnock  hired  that  boy,  and  under  his  guidance 
sauntered  through  Tangier  where  the  East  and  the 
West  rub  shoulders,  where  the  camel  snarls  in  the 
Sok  with  an  electric  arc-lamp  for  a  night-light,  and 
all  the  races  and  all  the  centuries  jostle  together 
in  many  colours  down  the  cobbles  of  its  narrow 
streets.  Charnock  was  shown  the  incidentals  of 
the  Tangier  variety  entertainment :  the  Basha 
administering  more  or  less  justice  for  less  or  more 
money  at  his  Palace  gate;  the  wooden  peep-hole 
of  the  prison  where  the  prisoners'  hands  come 
through  and  clutch  for  alms ;  a  dancing-room  where 
a  Moorish  woman  closely  veiled  leaned  her  back 
against  a  Tottenham  Court  Road  chest  of  drawers 
under  a  portrait  of  Mrs.  Langtry,  and  beat  upon  a 
drum  while  another  stamped  an  ungainly  dance  by 
the  light  of  a  paraffin  lamp;  and  coming  out  again 
into  the  sunlight,  Charnock  cried  out,  "  Hamet, 
take  me  somewhere  where  it's  clean,  and  there's 
no  din,  and  there  are  no  smells." 

Hamet  led  the  way  up  the  hills,  and  every 
now  and  then,  as  he  passed  a  man  better  dressed 
than   his  fellows  he  would  say  in  a  voice  of  awe : 


1 8  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY         chap. 

"  That's  a  rich."  He  invariably  added,  "  He's 
uice. 

"  Look  here,  Harriet,"  said  Charnock,  at  length, 
"  can't  you  show  me  a  rich  who  isn't  a  Jew  ?  ' 

"  These  are  the  loryers,"  observed  Hamet,  after 
the  fashion  of  the  March  Hare  when  posed  with 
an  inconvenient  question.  He  pointed  to  a  number 
of  venerable  gentlemen  in  black  robes  who  sat  in 
wooden  hutches  open  to  the  street.  "  I  will  show 
you,"  he  continued,  "  a  Moor  who  was  the  richest 
man  in  all  Tangier." 

The  pair  walked  up  out  of  the  town  towards  the 
Mazan,  and  came  to  a  lane  shadowed  by  cedars 
and  bordered  with  prickly  pears.  Here  the 
resounding  din  of  the  streets  below  was  subdued  to 
a  murmurous  confusion  of  voices,  from  which 
occasionally  a  sharp  cry  would  spirt  up  clear  into 
the  air  like  a  jet  of  water.  Only  one  voice  was 
definite  and  incessant,  and  that  voice  came  down  to 
them  from  the  trees  higher  up  the  lane  —  a  voice 
very  thin,  but  on  that  hot,  still  afternoon  very 
distinct  —  a  voice  which  perpetually  quavered  and 
bleated  one  monotonous  invocation. 

"  Hassan  Akbar,"  said  Hamet. 

The  invocation  became  articulate  as  they 
ascended.  "  Allah  Beh  !  "  the  voice  cried,  and 
again  "  Allah  Beh  !  "  and  again,  until  the  wind- 
less air  seemed  to  vibrate  with  its  recurrence. 

They  came  upon  the  Moor  who  uttered  this 
cry  at  the  gate  of  the  Moorish  cemetery.  A 
white,  stubbly  beard  grew  upon  his  chin  and  lips, 
but  his  strength  was  not  diminished  by  his  years, 
and  with  every  movement  of  his  body  the  muscles 


n       MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY  19 

beneath  the  tough  skin  of  his  bare  legs  worked 
like  live  things.  He  sat  cross-legged  in  the  dust 
with  a  filthy  sack  for  his  only  garment ;  he  was 
blind,  and  his  eyes  stared  from  their  red  sockets 
covered  with  a  bluish  film  as  though  the  colours 
of  the  eyeballs  had  run. 

"  Allah  Beh  !  "  he  cried,  swaying  his  body  back- 
wards and  forwards  with  the  regularity  of  an 
automaton  and  an  inimitable  quickness.  He  paid 
no  heed  whatever  to  Charnock  and  the  boy  as 
they  halted  beside  him.  "  Allah  Beh  !  "  he  cried, 
and  his  chest  touched  the  cradle  of  his  knees. 
He  marked  the  seconds  with  the  pendulum  of 
his  body ;  he  struck  them  with  his  strident 
invocation. 

"He  was  the  richest  man  in  Tangier,"  said 
Hamet,  and  he  told  Hassan  Akbar's  story  as 
though  it  was  an  affair  of  every  day.  Hassan 
had  not  secured  the  protection  of  any  of  the 
European  Legations.  He  had  hoped  to  hide 
his  wealth  by  living  poorly,  and  though  he  owned 
a  house  worth  three  thousand  dollars  in  Tangier, 
he  did  not  dwell  in  it.  But  no  concealments  had 
availed  him.  Someone  of  his  familiars  had  told, 
and  no  doubt  had  made  his  profit  from  the  telling. 
The  Basha  had  waited  his  opportunity.  It  came 
when  blindness  left  Hassan  defenceless.  Then  the 
Basha  laid  hands  upon  him,  forced  him  to  give  up 
the  gains  of  a  lifetime's  trade,  and  so  cast  him  out 
penniless  to  beg  for  copper  flouss  at  the  gate  of 
the  cemetery. 

"  And  Europe's  no  more  than  seven  miles  away," 
cried  Charnock.      Even  where  he  stood  he  could 


20  MIRANDA    OF   THE   BALCONY         chap. 

see  the  laughing  water  of  the  Straits,  and  beyond 
that,  the  summit  of  Gibraltar.  "  Who  was  it  that 
told  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  That  is  not  known." 

Charnock  dropped  some  money  into  the  blind 
man's  lap,  but  Hassan  did  not  cease  from  his 
prayer  to  thank  him. 

"  He  is  very  strong,"  said  Hamet,  who  saw 
nothing  strange  in  the  story  he  had  told.  "  He 
swings  like  this  all  day  from  seven  in  the  morning 
to  five  at  night.  He  never  stops."  And  at  that 
moment,  upon  the  heels  of  Harriet' s  words,  as 
though  intentionally  to  belie  them,  Hassan  Akbar 
suddenly  arrested  the  motion  of  his  body  and 
suddenly  ceased  from  his  pitiable  cry. 

His  silence  and  immobility  came  with  so  much 
abruptness  that  Charnock  was  fairly  startled. 
Then  Hamet  held  up  a  finger,  and  they  both 
listened.  Maybe  the  blind  man  was  listening  too, 
but  Charnock  could  not  be  certain.  His  face  was 
as  blind  as  his  eyes,  and  there  was  no  expression 
in  the  rigid  attitude  of  his  body. 

Charnock  heard  a  faint  sound  higher  up  the 
lane.  The  sound  became  louder  and  defined 
itself.  It  was  the  slap-slap  of  a  pair  of  Moorish 
slippers.  Charnock  drew  Hamet  back  by  the 
trunk  of  a  tree,  which  sheltered  them  both  from 
the  view  of  anyone  who  came  down  the  hill.  He 
left  the  lane  free,  and  into  the  open  space  there 
came  a  man  who  wore  the  dress  of  a  Moor  of 
wealth,  serwal,  chamir,  farajia,  and  haik,  spotless 
and  complete.  In  figure  he  was  slight  and  perhaps 
a  trifle  under  the  middle  height,  and  the  haik  was 


ii  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONT  21 

drawn  close  over  his  forehead  to  shield  him  from 
the  sun. 

Hassan  was  seated  in  the  dust  with  the  sun 
beating  full  upon  his  head.  In  front  of  him  the 
newcomer  stopped.  "  Peace  be  with  you,"  he 
said,  as  Charnock,  who  had  some  knowledge  of 
Arabic,  understood.  But  the  beggar  made  no 
answer,  nor  gave  any  sign  that  he  heard.  He  sat 
motionless,  impassive,  a  secret  figure  of  stone. 

The  newcomer  laughed  lightly  to  himself,  and 
the  laughter,  within  view  of  the  rags  and  misery 
of  the  once  rich  man,  sounded  unpleasant  and 
callous.  Hamet  shifted  a  foot  at  Charnock's  side, 
and  Charnock,  whose  interest  in  this  picturesque 
encounter  was  steadily  growing,  pressed  a  hand 
upon  the  boy's  shoulder  to  restrain  him. 

The  stranger,  however,  had  noticed  neither  of 
the  two  spectators.  He  was  still  laughing  softly 
to  himself  as  he  watched  the  beggar,  and  in  a 
little  he  began  to  hum  between  his  teeth  a  tune  — 
a  queer,  elusive  tune  of  a  sweet  but  rather  mourn- 
ful melody  ;  and  it  seemed  to  Charnock  by  some 
indefinable  hint  of  movement  that  Hassan  Akbar 
was  straining  his  ears  to  catch  and  register  that 
tune. 

The  stranger  advanced  to  Hassan  and  dropped 
a  coin  in  his  lap.  The  coin  was  not  copper,  for 
it  sparkled  in  the  air  as  it  fell.  Then  with  another 
easy  laugh  he  turned  to  go  down  into  Tangier. 
But  as  he  turned  he  saw  Charnock  watching  him. 
On  the  instant  his  hand  went  to  his  hood  and 
drew  it  close  about  his  cheeks,  but  not  before 
Charnock   had  seen  a  scared  face  flashed  at  him 


22  MIRANDA    OF   THE   BALCONY         chap. 

for  a  moment,  and  immediately  withdrawn.  The 
Moor  went  down  the  lane. 

"  Perhaps  it  was  he  who  told  ?  "  said  Charnock. 

Hamet  disagreed. 

"  He  would  not  know.  His  beard  was  fair,  so 
he  comes  from  Fez."  Charnock,  too,  had  re- 
marked that  the  man  was  fair-haired.  But  never- 
theless this  encounter  of  the  rich  Moor  and  the 
beggar  remained  in  his  thoughts,  and  he  allowed 
his  imagination  lazily  to  fix  a  picture  of  it  in  his 
mind.  Thus  occupied,  he  walked  through  the 
cemetery,  taking  in  that  way  a  short  cut  to  the 
Sok.  But  he  was  not  half-way  across  the  cemetery 
when  he  turned  sharply  towards  Hamet. 

"  Do  you  remember  the  tune  the  Moor 
hummed  ?  " 

Charnock's  ear  was  slow  to  retain  the  memory 
of  music.  Hamet,  however,  promptly  whistled 
the  melody  from  beginning  to  end,  while  Charnock 
stood  and  took  count  of  it. 

"  I  shall  have  forgotten  it  to-morrow,"  said 
Hamet. 

"  I  think  now  that  I  shall  recollect  it  to- 
morrow," said   Charnock,  and  he  walked  on. 

But  in  a  moment  or  two  he  stopped  again  as 
though  some  new  perplexity  was  present  to  his 
mind. 

"  Hamet,"  he  said,  "  before  the  Moor  appeared 
at  all,  while  his  footsteps  were  still  faint,  certainly 
before  he  spoke,  Hassan  Akbar  stopped  his 
prayer,  which  you  say  he  never  stops.  He  knew 
then  who  was  coming.  At  all  events  he  suspected. 
How  did  he  know  ?     How  did  he  suspect  ? ' 


ii  MIRANDA    OF    THE    BALCONY  23 

"  There  is  the  Sok,"  replied  Harriet. 

They  had  passed  round  the  bend  of  the  hill  up 
which  the  cemetery  slopes,  and  were  come  within 
view  of  the  market-place.  Charnock  was  puzzled 
by  his  unanswered  question,  and  the  question  was 
forced  to  his  notice  again  that  afternoon,  and  with 
yet  greater  force. 

It  was  market-day.  Charnock  beheld  stretched 
out  beneath  him  a  great  field,  or  rather  a  great 
plain,  (for  the  grass  was  long  since  trampled  into 
mud,)  which  curved  down  to  the  yellow  sun-baked 
wall  of  the  citv,  and  whereon  an  innumerable 
throng,  Negroes  from  Timbuctoo,  Arabs,  Jews, 
and  Moors,  in  all  manner  of  raiment,  from  rags  to 
coloured  robes,  jostled  and  seethed,  bawled  and 
sweated,  under  a  hot  sun  and  in  a  brilliant  air. 
Here  an  old  hag  screamed  aloud  the  virtues  of 
her  merchandise,  a  few  skinny  onions  and  vegeta- 
bles ;  there  two  men  forced  a  passage  with  blows 
of  their  sticks,  and  behind  them  a  stately  train  of 
camels  brought  in  from  the  uplands  their  loads  of 
dates.  A  Riffian  sauntered  by  with  an  indifferent 
air,  his  silver-mounted  gun  upon  his  back,  a  pair 
of  pistols  in  his  belt,  and  a  great  coarse  tail  of 
hair  swinging  between  his  shoulders.  He  needed 
no  couriers  to  prepare  his  way.  At  one  spot  a 
serpent-charmer  thrust  out  his  tongue,  from  which 
a  snake  was  hanging  by  the  fangs  ;  at  another  a 
story-teller,  vivid  in  narration,  and  of  an  extra- 
ordinary aptness  in  his  gestures,  held  an  audience 
enchained.  From  every  side  the  din  of  human 
voices  rose  into  the  air,  and  to  the  din  was  added 
the  snarling  of  camels,  the  braying  of  donkeys, 


24  MIRANDA    OP   THE   BALCONT         chap. 

the  bleating  of  sheep,  the  lowing  of  oxen,  and  all 
manner  of  squeals  and  grunts,  so  that  it  seemed 
the  whole  brute  creation  had  combined  to  make 
one  discordant  orchestra. 

Into  this  Babel  Charnock  descended. 

"  Those  are  the  shoemakers,"  said  Hamet.  He 
pointed  to  a  cluster  of  tiny  grimed  gunny-bag 
tents  in  a  corner  of  the  highest  part  of  the  Sok. 
In  the  doorways  of  the  tents  a  few  men  sat  cob- 
bling ;  one  or  two  wood  fires  crackled  in  the  in- 
tervals between  the  tents ;  and  in  close  proximity 
a  dead  mule  took  its  last  unsavoury  sleep. 

"  Hassan  Akbar  sleeps  in  the  mud  near  to  the 
tents,"  continued  Hamet.  "  Every  evening  he 
comes  down  to  the  Sok,  buys  milk  and  bread 
from  the  shoemakers,  and  sleeps —  " 

"  Near  to  that  mule  !  "  interrupted  Charnock. 
"  And  he  was  the  richest  man  in  all  Tangier." 

A  moment  later  there  was  shown  to  him  the 
second  picture  which  he  was  to  carry  away  from 
Tangier.  Down  the  Sok,  through  the  crowd,  came 
the  Moor,  in  his  spotless  robes,  and  a  few  yards 
behind  him,  striding  swiftly  and  noiselessly,  the 
blind  gaunt  beggar  of  the  cemetery  gate  followed 
upon  his  trail.  In  and  out  amongst  the  shifting 
groups  he  threaded  and  wound,  and  never  erred 
in  his  pursuit.  The  man  in  whose  track  he  kept 
never  spoke  when  all  were  shouting,  yet  Hassan 
never  faltered.  The  sound  of  his  footsteps  was 
lost  in  a  multitude  of  the  like  sounds,  yet  Hassan 
was  somehow  sensible  of  it,  somehow  to  his  ears 
it  emerged  distinct. 

Charnock  was   amazed ;  in  a  way  too  he  was 


n       MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONT  25 

chilled.  It  seemed  uncanny  that  this  sightless 
creature  of  the  impassive  face  should  be  able  to 
follow,  follow,  follow  relentlessly,  unswervingly, 
one  silent  man  amongst  the  noisy  hundreds.  Char- 
nock  walked  for  a  few  yards  by  Hassan  Akbar's 
side,  keeping  pace  with  him.  Even  with  his  eyes 
fixed  upon  the  Moor  in  front,  even  though  he 
saw  his  feet  tread  the  ground,  he  could  not  dis- 
tinguish his  footfalls.      How  then  could  Hassan  ? 

Tracker  and  Tracked  passed  from  the  Sok 
under  the  archway  of  the  gate,  and  Charnock 
dismissing  Hamet  walked  down  towards  his  hotel 
near  the  waterside.  However,  he  missed  his 
road.  He  turned  through  the  horse  market, 
descended  the  steep  street,  past  the  great  Mosque, 
and  walked  along  a  narrow,  crooked  alley  between 
blank  and  yellow  walls,  which  ended  in  a  tunnel 
beneath  over-arching  houses.  Almost  within  the 
mouth  of  this  tunnel  there  was  a  shop,  or  so 
it  seemed,  for  a  stuffed  jackal  swung  above  the 
door  as  a  sign.  Before  this  shop  Charnock 
halted  with  a  thrill  of  excitement.  The  door 
of  the  shop  was  shut,  the  unglazed  window 
was  shuttered.  It  was  not  on  that  account  that 
Charnock  stopped;  but  underneath  the  shuttered 
window,  his  head  almost  touching  the  sill,  Has- 
san squatted  on  the  cobbles  fingering  now  and 
then  a  silver  dollar. 

Inside  the  door  a  bolt  grated,  the  door  opened, 
and  a  stout,  undersized  European  appeared  in 
the  entrance,  polished  a  pair  of  glasses,  set 
them  upon  his  nose,  glanced  up  and  down  the 
street,  closed  the  door  behind   him,   and   taking 


26  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY         chap. 

no  heed  whatever  of  the  blind  man  under  his 
window,  walked  briskly  into  the  tunnel.  He 
walked  with  a  short,  tripping,  and  jaunty  step. 

Charnock  waited  while  the  echo  of  it  diminished 
and  ceased,  and  the  moment  it  had  ceased  he  saw 
Hassan,  without  any  hurry,  without  any  sign  of 
expectation  or  excitement,  rise  slowly  to  his  feet 
and  move  along  the  house  wall  towards  the  door. 
His  right  elbow  scraped  the  plaster  ;  then  his  elbow 
touched  nothing.  He  had  come  to  the  recess  of 
the  door,  and  he  stopped. 

It  flashed  upon  Charnock  that  he  had  not  heard 
the  bolt  again  grate  into  its  socket.  The  door 
was  then  only  latched  and  —  was  Hassan's  quarry 
behind  its  panels  ? 

The  affair  had  ceased  to  be  a  toy  with  which 
Charnock's  imagination  could  idly  play.  He 
strode  across  the  alley  and  planted  himself  face 
to  face  with  Hassan.  Hassan  quietly  and  im- 
mediately murmured  a  request  for  alms  and 
stretched  out  his  left  hand,  a  supple,  corded  hand, 
with  long  sinuous  fingers,  a  hand  of  great 
strength.  But  as  he  spoke  he  drew  within  the 
recess  of  the  door,  and  Charnock  noticed  his 
right  hand  steal  up  the  panels  feeling  for  the 
latch. 

Made  by  this  seemingly  passionless  and  apathetic 
man,  the  secret  movement  shocked  Charnock.  It 
seemed  to  him  at  that  moment  so  cold-blooded 
as  to  be  almost  inhuman. 

"  Look  out !  "  he  shouted  through  the  door 
and  in  broad  English,  forgetting  that  the  man 
for  whom  his  warning  was  intended  was  a  Moor. 


ii  MIRANDA    OF   THE   BALCONY  27 

But  the  warning  had  its  effect.  There  was  a 
heavy  blow  upon  the  door,  as  though  a  man's 
shoulder  lurched  against  it,  and  then  the  bolt 
grated  into  the  socket.  Hassan  Akbar  walked 
on  repeating  his  prayer  for  alms,  as  if  his  hand 
had  never  for  an  instant  stolen  up  the  panel  and 
felt  for  the  latch. 

Charnock,  to  make  his  warning  the  more 
complete,  rapped  on  the  door  for  admission,  once, 
twice,  thrice.  But  he  got  no  answer.  He  leaned 
his  ear  to  the  panel.  He  could  detect  not  so 
much  as  a  foot  stirring.  Absolute  silence  reigned 
in  that  dark  and  shuttered  room. 

Charnock  walked  back  to  his  hotel.  On  the 
way  he  passed  the  end  of  the  pier,  where  he  saw 
the  little  Frenchman  bargaining  with  the  owner  of 
a  felucca.  His  excitement  gradually  died  down. 
It  occurred  to  him  that  there  might  have  been  no 
grounds  at  all  for  any  excitement.  Hassan  Akbar 
might  have  been  following  through  the  Sok  by 
mere  accident.  He  might  have  tried  the  door  in 
pursuit  of  nothing  more  than  alms  ;  and  in  a 
little  the  whole  incident  ceased  to  trouble  his 
speculations.  He  crossed  the  Straits  to  Gibraltar 
the  next  morning,  and  waited  there  for  two  days 
until  the  P.  and  O.  came  in.  It  was  on  the 
P.  and  O.  that  he  .first  fell  in  with  Major 
Wilbraham. 


CHAPTER   III 

TREATS  OF  A  GENTLEMAN  WITH  AN  AGREEABLE 
COUNTENANCE,  AND  OF  A  WOMAN'S  FACE  IN 
A    MIRROR 

Major  Ambrose  Wilbraham  had  embarked 
at  Marseilles,  and  before  the  boat  reached  Gibraltar 
he  hadmadethe  acquaintance  of  everyone  on  board, 
and  had  managed  to  exchange  cards  with  a  good 
many.  The  steamer  was  still  within  sight  of 
Gibraltar  when  he  introduced  himself  to  Charnock 
with  a  manner  of  effusive  jocularity  to  which  Char- 
nock did  not  respond.  The  Major  was  tall  and 
about  forty  years  of  age.  A  thin  crop  of  black 
hair  was  plastered  upon  his  head ;  he  wore  a 
moustache  which  was  turning  grey  ;  his  eyebrows 
were  so  faultlessly  regular  that  they  seemed  to  have 
been  stencilled  on  his  forehead,and  underneath  them 
a  pair  of  cold  beady  eyes  counterfeited  friendliness. 
Charnock  could  not  call  to  mind  that  he  had  ever  met 
a  man  on  whom  geniality  sat  with  so  ill  a  grace,  or 
one  whose  acquaintance  he  less  desired  to  improve. 

Major  Wilbraham,  however,  was  not  easily  re- 
buffed, and  he  walked  the  deck  by  Charnock's  side, 
talkative  and  unabashed. 

Off  the  coast  of  Portugal  the  boat  made  bad 

28 


chap,  in      MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY  29 

weather,  and  she  laboured  through  the  cross-seas  of 
the  Bay  under  a  strong  south-westerly  wind.  Off 
Ushant  she  picked  up  a  brigantine  which  Charnock 
watched  from  the  hurricane  deck  without  pre- 
monition, and  indeed  without  more  than  a  passing 
curiosity. 

"  Fine  lines,  eh,  Charnock  old  fellow  ! ,:  said  a 
voice  at  his  elbow. 

The  brigantine  dipped  her  head  into  a  roller, 
lifted  it,  and  shook  the  water  off  her  decks  in  a 
cascade  of  snow. 

"  I  have  seen  none  finer,"  answered  Charnock, 
"  except  on  a  racing-yacht  or  a  destroyer." 

"  She's  almost  familiar  to  me,"  speculated  the 
Major. 

"  She  reminds  me  of  some  boats  I  saw  once  at 
the  West  Indies,"  returned  Charnock,  "built  for 
the  fruit-trade,  and  so  built  for  speed.  Only  they 
were  schooners  —  from  Salcombe,  I  believe.  The 
Salcombe  clippers  they  were  called." 

"  Indeed!"  said  the  Major,  with  a  sharp  interest, 
and  he  leaned  forward  over  the  rail.  "  Now  I 
wonder  what  her  name  is." 

Charnock  held  a  pair  of  binoculars  in  his  hand. 
He  gave  them  to  the  Major.  Wilbraham 
raised  them  to  his  eyes  while  the  P.  and  O. 
closed  upon  the  sailing-boat.  The  brigantine  slid 
down  the  slope  of  a  wave  and  hoisted  her  stern. 

"The  'Tarifa,' '  said  the  Major,  and  he  shut 
up  the  binoculars.  "  What  is  her  tonnage,  do  you 
think?" 

"  About  three  hundred,  I  should  say." 

"My   notion  precisely.     Would  it  be  of  any 


3o  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY        chap. 

advantage  to  alter  her  rig,  supposing  that  she  was 
one  of  the  Salcombe  schooners  ?  " 

"  I  should  hardly  think  so,"  replied  Charnock. 
"  I  rather  understood  that  the  schooners  were  noted 
boats." 

"  Ah,  that's  interesting,"  said  Wilbraham,  and 
he  returned  the  binoculars.  The  steamer  was  now 
abreast  of  the  brigantine,  and  in  a  little  it  drew 
ahead. 

"  By  the  way,  Charnock,  I  shall  hope  to  see 
more  of  you,"  resumed  Major  Wilbraham.  "I 
haven't  given  you  a  card,  have  I  ?  " 

He  produced  a  well-worn  card-case. 

"  It's  very  kind  of  you,"  said  Charnock,  as  he 
twirled  the  card  between  his  forefinger  and  his 
thumb.  "  Don't  you,"  he  added,  "  find  cards 
rather  a  heavy  item  in  your  expenses?  ' 

Major  Wilbraham  laughed  noisily. 

"  I  take  you,  dear  friend,"  he  exclaimed,  "  I 
take  you.  But  a  friend  in  this  world,  sir,  is  a 
golden  thread  in  a  very  dusty  cobweb." 

"  But  the  friendship  is  rather  a  one-sided  ar- 
rangement," rejoined  Charnock.  "  For  instance, 
the  cards  you  give,  Major  Wilbraham,  bear  no 
address,  the  cards  you  receive,  do."  And  while 
showing  the  card  to  his  companion,  he  inadver- 
tently dropped  it  into  the  sea. 

Major  Wilbraham  blamed  the  negligenceof  a  ras- 
cally printer,and  made  his  way  to  the  smoking-room. 

The  P.  and  O.  boat  touched  at  Plymouth  the  next 
morning,  and  landed  both  Major  Wilbraham  and 
Charnock.  The  latter  remained  in  Plymouth  for 
two  days,  and  on    the  morning  of  the  third  day 


in  MIRANDA    OF    THE    BALCONY  31 

hired  a  hansom  cab,  and  so  met  with  the  last  of 
those  incidents  which  were  to  link  him  in  such 
close,  strange  ties  with  the  fortunes  of  men  and 
women  who  even  in  name  were  then  utterly  un- 
known to  him. 

A  yellow  handbill  had  led  Charnock  across  the 
Straits  to  Tangier,  and  now  it  was  nothing  more 
serious  than  a  draft  upon  Lloyd's  bank  which 
took  him  in  a  hansom  cab  through  the  streets  of 
Plymouth.  Spring  was  in  the  air;  Charnock  felt 
exceedingly  light-hearted  and  cheerful.  On  the 
way  he  unconsciously  worked  his  little  finger  into 
the  eye  of  the  brass  bracket  which  juts  inwards  on 
each  side  of  the  front  window  at  the  level  of  the 
shoulder ;  and  when  the  cab  stopped  in  front  of 
the  bank  he  discovered  that  his  finger  was  securely 
jammed. 

Across  the  road  he  noticed  a  chemist's  shop,  and 
descending  the  steps  of  the  bank  a  fair-haired 
gentleman  of  an  agreeable  countenance,  who,  quite 
appropriately  in  that  town  of  sailors,  had  some- 
thing of  a  nautical  aspect. 

"  Sir,"  began  Charnock,  politely,  as  he  leaned 
out  of  the  window,  "  I  shall  be  much  obliged  —  " 

To  Charnock's  surprise  the  good-natured 
gentleman  precipitately  sprang  down  the  steps 
and  began  to  walk  rapidly  away.  Charnock  was 
sufficiently  human  and  therefore  sufficiently  per- 
verse to  become  at  once  convinced  that  although 
there  were  others  passing,  this  reluctant  man  was 
the  only  person  in  the  world  who  could  and  must 
help  him  from  his  predicament. 

So  he  leaned  yet  farther  out  of  the  cab. 


32  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY        chap. 

"  Hi,  you  sir ! ':  he  shouted,  "  you  who  are 
running  away  !  " 

The  words  had  an  electrical  effect.  The  man 
of  the  agreeable  countenance  stopped  suddenly, 
and  so  stood  with  his  back  towards  Charnock  while 
gently  and  thoughtfully  he  nodded  his  head.  It 
seemed  to  Charnock  that  he  might  perhaps  be 
counting  over  the  voices  with  which  he  was  familiar. 

"  Well,"  cried  Charnock,  who  was  becoming 
exasperated,  "  my  dear  sir,  am  I  to  wait  for  you 
all  day  ?  " 

The  street  was  populous  with  the  morning 
traffic  of  a  business  quarter.  Curious  people 
stopped  and  attracted  others.  In  a  very  few 
moments  a  small  crowd  would  have  formed.  The 
stranger  thereupon  came  slowly  back  to  the  han- 
som, showing  a  face  which  was  no  longer  agree- 
able. He  set  a  foot  upon  the  step  of  the  cab,  and 
fixed  a  blue  and  watchful  eye  upon  Charnock. 

"  I  am  afraid,"  said  the  latter,  with  severity, 
"  that  my  first  impression  of  you  was  wrong." 

An  indescribable  relief  was  expressed  by  the 
other,  but  he  spoke  with  surliness. 

"  You  mistook  me  for  someone  else  ?  " 

"  I  mistook  your  disposition  for  something 
else,"  Charnock  affably  corrected.  "  I  expected  to 
find  you  a  person  of  great  good-nature." 

"You  hardly  made  such  a  point  of  summoning 
a  perfect  stranger,"  and  here  the  blue  eyes  be- 
came very  wary,  "  for  no  other  reason  than  to  tell 
him  that." 

"  Certainly  not,"  returned  Charnock  ;  "  I  would 
not  trespass  upon  your  time,  which  seems  to  be 


in       MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY  33 

extremely  valuable,  without  a  better  reason.  But 
my  ringer  is  fixed,  as  you  can  see,  in  this  brass 
ring,  and  I  cannot  withdraw  it.  So  if  you 
would  kindly  cross  over  to  the  chemist  and  buy 
me  a  pennyworth  of  vaseline,  I  shall  be  more 
than  obliged."  And  with  the  hand  which  was 
free  he  felt  in  his  pocket  for  a  penny  and  held  it 
out. 

A  look  of  utter  incredulity  showed  upon  the 
listener's  face. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me — "  he  blurted  out. 

"  That  I  ask  you  to  be  my  good  Samaritan  ? 
Yes." 

The  stranger's  face  became  suddenly  vindictive. 
"Vaseline!"   he  cried. 

"  A  pennyworth,"  said  Charnock,  again  offering 
the  penny. 

The  man  of  the  agreeable  countenance  struck 
Charnock's  hand  violently  aside,  and  the  penny 
flew  into  a  gutter.  He  stood  up  on  the  step  and 
thrust  his  face,  which  was  now  inflamed  with  fury, 
into  the  cab. 

"  I  tell  you  what,"  he  cried,  "  you  are  a  fair 
red-hotter,  you  are.  Buy  you  vaseline  !  I  hope 
your  finger  will  petrify.  I  hope  you'll  just  sit  in 
that  cab  and  rot  away  in  your  boots,  until  you 
have  to  ante  up  in  kingdom  come."  He  added 
expletives  to  his  anathema. 

"Really,"  said  Charnock,  "if  I  was  a  lady  I 
don't  think  that  I  should  like  to  listen  to  you 
any  longer." 

But  before  Charnock  had  finished  the  sentence, 
the  good  Samaritan,  who  was  no  Samaritan  at  all, 


34  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY         chap. 

had  flung  himself  from  the  cab  and  was  striding 
up  the  street. 

"  After  all,"  thought  Charnock,  "  I  might  just 
as  well  have  driven  across  to  the  chemist,  if  I  had 
only  thought  of  it." 

This  he  now  did,  got  his  finger  free,  cashed  his 
draft,  and  took  the  train  to  London. 

During  this  journey  the  discourteous  stranger 
occupied  some  part  of  his  thoughts.  Between 
Charnock's  eyes  and  the  newspaper,  against  the 
red  cliffs  of  Teignmouth,  on  the  green  of  the 
home  counties,  his  face  obtruded,  and  for  a  par- 
ticular reason.  The  marks  of  fear  are  unmistak- 
ble.  The  man  whom  he  had  called,  had  been 
scared  by  the  call,  nor  had  his  fear  quite  left  him 
when  he  had  come  face  to  face  with  Charnock. 
Set  features  which  strove  to  conceal,  and  a  bright- 
ness of  the  eye  which  betrayed  emotion,  these 
things  Charnock  remembered  very  clearly. 

In  London  he  dined  alone  at  his  hotel,  and  over 
against  him  the  stranger's  face  bore  him  company. 
He  went  out  afterwards  into  the  street,  and  amidst 
the  myriad  ringing  feet,  was  seized  with  an  utter 
sense  of  loneliness,  more  poignant,  more  complete, 
than  he  had  ever  experienced  in  the  waste  places 
of  the  world.  The  lights  of  a  theatre  attracted 
him.  He  paid  his  money,  took  a  seat  in  the 
stalls,  and  was  at  once  very  worried  and  perplexed. 
He  turned  to  his  neighbour,  who  was  boisterously 
laughing. 

"  Would  you  mind  telling  me  what  this  play 
is  ?  "   he  asked. 

"  Oh,  it's  a  musical  comedy." 


in  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY  35 

"  I  see.      But  what  is  it  about  ?  " 

Charnock's  neighbour  scratched  his  head 
thoughtfully. 

"I  ought  to  remember,"  he  said,  "for  I  saw 
the  piece  early  in  the  run." 

Charnock  went  out,  crossed  a  street,  and  came 
to  another  theatre,  where  he  saw  a  good  half  of 
the  tragedy  of  Macbeth.  Thence  he  returned 
to  his  hotel  and  went  to  bed. 

The  hotel  was  one  of  many  balconies,  situated 
upon  the  Embankment.  From  the  single  window 
of  his  bedroom  Charnock  looked  across  the  river 
to  where  the  name  of  a  brewery  perpetually  wrote 
itself  in  red  brilliant  letters  which  perpetually 
vanished.  It  was  his  habit  to  sleep  not  merely 
with  his  window  open,  but  with  the  blinds  drawn 
up  and  the  curtains  looped  back,  and  these  arrange- 
ments he  made  as  usual   before  he  got  into  bed. 

Now,  the  looking-glass  stood  upon  a  dressing- 
table  in  the  window,  with  its  back  towards  the 
window-panes ;  and  since  the  night  was  moonless 
and  dark,  this  mirror,  it  should  be  remembered, 
reflected  nothing  of  the  room  or  its  furniture,  but 
presented  only  to  the  view  of  Charnock,  as  he  lay 
in  bed,  a  surface  of  a  black  sheen. 

Charnock  recurred  to  his  adventure  of  the 
morning,  and  thus  the  abusive  stranger  was 
in  his  thoughts  when  he  fell  asleep.  He  figured 
also  in  his  dreams. 

For,  after  he  had  fallen  asleep,  a  curtain  was 
raised  upon  a  fantastic  revue  of  the  past  week. 
Hassan  Akbar  strode  quickly  and  noiselessly 
behind  his  quarry,  tracking  him  by  some  inap- 


36  MIRANDA    OF   THE   BALCONY         chap. 

preciable  faculty,  not  through  the  muddy  Sok, 
but  across  the  polished  floor  of  the  ball-room 
in  the  musical  comedy.  Again  Charnock  shouted 
"  Look  out!  "  and  the  Moor  with  one  bound  leapt 
from  the  ball-room,  which  was  now  become  a 
landing-stage,  into  a  felucca.  The  crew  of  the 
felucca,  it  now  appeared,  was  made  up  of  Charnock, 
Lady  Macbeth,  and  Hassan  Akbar,  and  by  casting 
lots  with  counters  made  of  vaseline,  Charnock  was 
appointed  to  hold  the  tiller.  This  duty  compelled 
extraordinary  care,  for  the  felucca  would  keep 
changing  its  rig  and  the  bulk  of  its  hull  swelled 
and  dwindled.  At  last,  to  Charnock's  intense 
relief,  the  boat  settled  into  a  Salcombe  clipper 
with  the  rig  of  a  P.  and  O.,  but  with  immeasurably 
greater  speed,  so  that  within  a  very  few  seconds 
they  sailed  over  a  limitless  ocean  and  anchored  at 
Tangier.  At  once  the  crew  entirely  vanished. 
Charnock  was  not  distressed,  because  he  saw  a 
hansom  cab  waiting  for  him  at  the  Customs, 
though  how  the  hansom  was  to  pass  up  those 
narrow  cobbled  streets  he  could  not  think.  That 
however  was  the  driver's  business. 

"  I  hope  your  horse  is  good,"  said  Charnock, 
springing  into  the  cab. 

"  She  comes  of  the  great  Red-hotter  stock," 
replied  the  cabman,  and  lifting  the  trap  in  the 
roof  he  showered  packets  of  visiting  cards,  which 
fell  about  Charnock  like  flakes  of  snow. 

Charnock  had  not  previously  noticed  that  the 
cabman  was  Major  Wilbraham. 

The  cab  shot  up  the  hill  through  the  tunnel, 
past  the  closed  shop.     A  figure  sprang  from  the 


in  MIRANDA    OF    THE    BALCONY  37 

ground  and  thrust  a  face  through  the  window  of 
the  cab.  The  man  was  in  Moorish  dress,  but  the 
face  was  the  face  of  the  abusive  stranger  of  Plym- 
outh—  and  all  at  once  Charnock  started  up  on 
his  elbow,  and  in  the  smallest  fraction  of  a  second 
was  intensely  and  vividly  awake.  There  was  no 
sound  at  all  within  the  room.  But  in  the  black 
sheen  of  the  mirror  he  saw  a  woman's  face. 

He  saw  it  quite  clearly  for  perhaps  five  seconds, 
the  face  rising  white  from  the  white  column  of 
the  throat,  the  dark  and  weighty  coronal  of  the 
hair,  the  curved  lips  which  alone  had  any  colour, 
the  eyes,  deep  and  troubled,  which  seemed  to  hint 
a  prayer  for  help  which  they  disdained  to  make  — 
for  five  seconds  perhaps  the  illusion  remained,  for 
five  seconds  the  face  looked  out  at  him  from  the 
black  mirror,  lit  palely,  as  it  seemed,  by  its  own 
pallor,  and  so  vanished. 

Charnock  remained  propped  upon  his  elbow. 
A  faint  twilight  from  the  stars  crept  timidly 
through  the  open  window  as  though  deprecating 
its  intrusion.  Charnock  looked  into  the  dark 
corners  of  the  room,  but  nowhere  did  the  dark- 
ness move.  Nor  could  he  hear  any  sound.  Not 
even  a  board  of  the  floor  cracked,  and  outside  the 
door  there  was  no  noise  of  a  footstep  on  the  stairs. 
Then  from  a  great  distance  the  jingle  of  a  cab 
came  through  the  open  window  to  his  ears  with  a 
light  companionable  lilt.  Gradually  the  sound 
ceased,  and  again  the  silence  breathed  about  him. 
Charnock  struck  a  match  and  looked  at  his  watch. 
It  was  a  few  minutes  after  three. 

Charnock  lay  back  in  his  bed  wondering.      For 


38  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY      chap,  in 

he  had  seen  that  face  once,  he  had  once  exchanged 
glances  with  those  eyes,  once  only,  six  years  ago, 
and  thereafter  had  entirely  forgotten  the  incident 
—  until  this  moment.  He  had  stopped  for  a  night 
at  Monte  Carlo  and  had  seen  —  the  girl  —  yes,  the 
girl,  though  it  was  a  woman's  face  which  had 
gleamed  in  the  depths  of  his  mirror  —  standing 
under  the  green  shaded  lamps  in  the  big  gambling- 
room.  His  attention,  he  now  remembered,  had 
been  seized  by  the  contrast  between  her  amused 
indifference  and  the  feverish  haste  of  the  gamblers 
about  the  table  ;  between  her  fresh,  clear  looks  and 
their  heated  complexions, —  even  between  her  frock 
of  lilac  silk  and  their  more  elaborate  toilettes. 
The  girl  was  entirely  happy  then,  the  red  lips 
smiled,  the  violet  eyes  laughed.  Why  should  her 
face  appear  to  him  now,  after  these  years,  and 
paled  by  this  distress  ? 

A  queer  fancy  slipped  into  his  mind —  a  fancy 
at  the  extravagance  of  which  he  knew  very  well 
he  should  laugh  in  the  sane  light  of  the  morning, 
though  he  indulged  it  now  —  that  somehow,  some- 
where, this  woman  needed  help,  and  that  it  was 
thus  vouchsafed  to  her,  a  stranger,  to  make  her 
appeal  to  him  in  this  way,  which  spared  her  the 
humiliation  of  making  any  appeal  at  all.  Char- 
nock  fell  asleep  convinced  that  somehow,  some- 
where, he  was  destined  to  meet  and  know  her.  As 
he  had  foreseen,  he  laughed  at  his  fancies  in  the 
morning,  but  nevertheless,  he  did  meet  her.  It 
had,  in  fact,  already  been  arranged  that  he  should. 
For  the  face  which  he  saw  in  the  mirror  was  the 
face  of  Miranda  Warriner. 


CHAPTER   IV 

TREATS    OF    THE    FIRST    MEETING    BETWEEN 
CHARNOCK    AND    MIRANDA 

Lady  Donnisthorpe,  with  a  sigh  of  relief, 
retired  from  her  position  at  the  head  of  the  stairs, 
and  catching  Charnock  in  the  interval  between  two 
dances  :  — 

"  You  kept  some  dances  free,"  she  said,  "  didn't 
you  ?  I  want  to  introduce  you  to  a  cousin  of  mine, 
Miranda  Warriner,  because  she  lives  at  Ronda." 

"AtRonda.      Indeed?" 

"  Yes."  Her  ladyship  added  with  a  magnificent 
air  of  indifference,  "She  is  a  widow,"  and  she  led 
Charnock  across  the  ball-room. 

Miranda  saw  them  approaching,  noticed  an  in- 
definable air  of  expectation  in  Lady  Donnisthorpe's 
manner,  and  smiled.  A  few  excessively  casual 
remarks  concerning  one  Mr.  Charnock,  which 
Lady  Donnisthorpe  had  dropped  during  the  last 
few  days,  had  not  escaped  the  notice  of  Miranda, 
who  was  aware  of  her  cousin's  particular  weakness. 
This  was  undoubtedly  Mr.  Charnock.  She  raised 
her  eyes  towards  him,  and  had  her  ladyship  been 
less    fluttered,    she    might     have    remarked    that 

39 


40  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY         chap. 

Miranda's  eyes  lit  up  with  a  momentary  sparkle 
of  recognition. 

"  Mrs.  Warriner —  Mr.  Charnock." 

Lady  Donnisthorpe  effected  the  momentous 
introduction  and  felt  immediately  damped.  She 
had  not  indeed  expected  that  her  two  newest 
victims  would  at  once  and  publicly  embrace. 
But  at  all  events  she  had  decked  out  her  ball-room 
as  the  sacrificial  altar,  and  had  taken  care  that  a 
fitting  company  and  cheerful  music  should  do 
credit  to  the  immolation.  This  tame  indifference 
was  less  than  she  deserved. 

Miranda,  to  whom  Lady  Donnisthorpe  was 
looking,  made  the  perfunctory  dip  of  the  head 
and  smiled  the  perfunctory  smile,  and  Charnock — 
why  in  the  world  did  he  not  move  or  speak  ?  Lady 
Donnisthorpe  turned  her  eyes  from  Miranda  to  this 
awkward  cavalier,  and  was  restored  to  a  radiant 
good-humour.  "  Dazzled,"  she  said  to  herself, 
"absolutely  dazzled  !  "  For  Charnock  stood  rooted 
to  the  ground  and  tongue-tied  with  amazement. 

It  was  fortunate  for  Lady  Donnisthorpe  that  at 
this  point  she  thought  it  wise  to  withdraw. 
Otherwise  she  would  surely  have  remarked  an 
unmistakable  look  of  disappointment  which  grew 
within  Charnock's  eyes  and  spread  out  over  his 
face.  Then  the  disappointment  vanished,  and 
as  he  compared  programmes  with  Miranda,  he 
recovered  his  speech. 

Four  dances  must  intervene  before  he  could 
claim  her,  and  Charnock  was  glad  of  the  interval 
to  get  the  better  of  his  bewilderment.  Here  was 
the  woman  whom  his  mirror  had  shown  to  him  ! 


iv  MIRANDA    OF   THE   BALCONY  41 

After  all,  his  nocturnal  fancy  was  fulfilled,  or 
rather  part  of  it,  only  part  of  it.  He  had  met 
her,  he  was  to  dance  with  her.  Some  miracle  had 
brought  them  together.  From  the  corner  by  the 
doorway  he  watched  Miranda,  he  remarked  an 
unaffected  friendliness  in  her  manner  towards  her 
partners.  Candour  was  written  upon  her  broad 
white  forehead  and  looked  out  from  her  clear  eyes. 
He  had  no  doubt  it  was  fragrant  too  in  her  hair. 
There  were  heavy  masses  of  that  hair,  as  he  knew 
very  well  from  his  mirror,  but  now  the  masses 
were  piled  and  woven  about  her  head  with  a 
cunning  art,  which  to  be  sure  they  deserved. 
There  was  a  ripple  in  her  hair,  too,  which  caught 
the  light  —  a  most  taking  ripple.  Here  was  a 
woman  divested  of  a  girl's  wiles  and  vanities. 
Charnock,  without  a  scruple,  aspersed  all  girls  up 
to  the  age  of  say  twenty-four,  that  he  might  give 
her  greater  praise. 

He  fell  to  wondering,  not  how  it  was  that  her 
face  had  appeared  to  him,  nor  by  what  miracle  he 
was  now  enabled  to  have  knowledge  of  her,  but 
rather  by  what  miracle  of  forgetfulness  he  had 
allowed  her  face,  after  he  had  seen  it  that  one  time 
six  years  ago,  ever  to  slip  from  his  thoughts,  or  her 
eyes  after  that  one  time  he  had  exchanged  a 
glance  with  them. 

The  whirl  of  the  dance  carried  her  by  his  corner. 
She  swung  past  him  with  the  lightest  imaginable 
step,  and  he  was  suddenly  struck  through  and 
through  with  a  chilling  apprehension  that  by  some 
unconscionable  maladroitness  he  would  surely  tread 
upon  her  toes. 


42  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY        chap. 

At  once  he  proceeded  to  count  over  the  dances 
in  which  he  had  borne  himself  with  credit.  He 
had  danced  with  Spanish  women,  he  assured  him- 
self, and  they  had  not  objected.  He  was  thus 
consoling  himself  when  the  time  came  for  him  to 
lead  her  out.  And  the  touch  of  her  hand  in  his, 
he  remembers,  turned  him  into  a  babbling  idiot. 

He  recollects  that  they  danced  with  great 
celerity  ;  that  they  passed  Lady  Donnisthorpe,  who 
smiled  at  him  with  great  encouragement,  and  that 
he  was  dolefully  humorous  concerning  Major 
Wilbraham  and  his  exchanges  of  cards,  though 
why  Major  Wilbraham  should  have  thrust  his  bald 
head  into  the  conversation,  he  was  ever  at  a  loss  to 
discover.  And  then  Miranda  said,  "Shall  we  stop?" 

"  Oh,  I  didn't,  did  I  ?  "  exclaimed  the  horror- 
stricken  Charnock,  as  he  looked  downwards  at  her 
toes. 

"  No,  you  didn't,"  Miranda  assured  him  with 
a  laugh.     "  Do  you  usually  ?  " 

"  No,"  he  declared  vehemently,  "  believe  me, 
no  !  Never,  upon  my  word  !  I  have  danced  with 
Spanish  women, — not  at  all, — no — no — no — no." 

"  Quite  so,"  said  Miranda. 

And  they  laughed  suddenly  each  to  the  other, 
and  in  a  moment  they  were  friends.  Conversa- 
tion came  easily  to  their  tongues,  and  underneath 
the  surface  of  their  light  talk,  the  deeps  of  char- 
acter called  steadily  like  to  like. 

"  I  have  seen  you  once  before,  Mrs.  Warriner," 
said  Charnock,  as  they  seated  themselves  in  an 
alcove  of  the  room. 

"Yes,"   she    returned   promptly,   "at    Monte 


tv  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY  43 

Carlo,  six  years  ago,"  and  her  face  lost  its  look  of 
enjoyment  and  darkened  with  some  shadow  from 
her  memories.  The  change  was,  however,  unre- 
marked by  Charnock. 

"  It  seems  strange,"  he  said  in  an  absent  voice, 
"  that  we  should  meet  first  of  all  in  a  gambling- 
room,  and  the  next  time  at  a  ball." 

"Why?" 

The  question  could  not  be  answered.  Charnock 
had  a  real  but  inexplicable  feeling  that  Miranda 
and  he  should  have  met  somewhere  amidst  the 
grandeur  of  open  spaces,  in  the  centre  of  the 
Sahara,  and  for  the  moment  he  forgot  to  calculate 
the  effect  of  the  sand  upon  Miranda's  eyes.  This 
feeling,  however,  he  could  hardly  express  at  the 
present  point  of  their  acquaintanceship ;  and, 
indeed,  he  immediately  ceased  to  be  aware  of  it. 

"  Do  you  actually  remember  our  meeting  in 
that  way  six  years  ago  ? '  he  exclaimed.  "  How 
wonderful  of  you  !  " 

"  Why  ?  "  again  asked  Mrs.  Warriner.  "  Why 
is  it  wonderful,  since  you  remember  it? ' 

"Ah,  but  I  didn't  remember  it  until"  —  he 
paused  for  a  second  or  two  —  "until  I  saw  your 
face  in  a  looking-glass." 

Miranda  glanced  at  him  in  considerable  per- 
plexity. Then  she  said  with  a  demure  smile,  "  I 
have  at  times  seen  it  there  myself." 

"  No  doubt,"  he  replied  with  a  glance  at  the 
cunning  arrangement  of  her  hair. 

"  My  maid  does  that,"  said  she,  biting  her  lip. 

"  No  doubt,  but  you  sit  in  front  of  the  glass  at 
the    time.     You're  in  the  room,"   he   continued 


44  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY        chap. 

hastily  ;  "  but  when  I  saw  your  face  in  my  mirror, 
you  couldn't  be.  I  was  in  bed, —  I  mean,  —  let 
me  tell  you  !  "  He  stopped,  overwhelmed  with 
embarrassment.  Miranda,  with  an  air  of  com- 
Dlete  unconsciousness,  carefully  buttoned  her 
glove ;  only  the  glove  was  already  buttoned,  and 
her  mouth  twitched  slightly  at  the  corners. 

"  It  was  just  a  week  ago  to-day,"  Charnock 
began  again.     "  I  got  home  to  my  hotel  late." 

"  Ah  !  "  murmured  Mrs.  Warriner,  as  though 
the  whole  mystery  was  now  explained  to  her. 

"  I  assure  you,"  he  retorted  with  emphasis, 
"  that  I  dined  in  the  train  and  drank  nothing 
more  serious  than  railway  claret." 

"  I  made  no  accusation  whatever,"  Miranda 
blandly  remarked,  and  seemed  very  well  pleased. 

"  After  I  had  fallen  asleep,  I  began  to  dream, 
but  not  about  you,  Mrs.  Warriner;  that's  the 
strange  feature  of  the  business.  It  wasn't  that  I 
had  been  thinking  of  you  that  evening,  or  indeed, 
that  I  had  ever  been  at  all  in  the  habit  of  think- 
ing — "  Again  Charnock  was  utterly  confused. 
"  I  don't  seem  to  be  telling  the  story  with  the 
best  taste  in  the  world,  do  I  ? "   he  said  ruefully. 

"  Never  mind,"  she  said  in  a  soothing  voice. 

"  Of  course,  I  could  have  turned  it  into  a  com- 
pliment," he  continued.  "  Only  I  take  it  you 
have  no  taste  for  compliments,  and  I  lack  the 
experience  to  put  them  tactfully." 

"  For  a  novice,"  said  she,  "  you  seem  to  be 
doing  very  well."  Charnock  resumed  his  story. 
"  I  dreamt  solely  of  people  I  had  seen,  and  inci- 
dents  I   had  witnessed  during  the  last  week,  at 


it 
« 


iv  MIRANDA    OF   THE    BALCONY  45 

Tangier  and  at  Plymouth.  I  dreamed  particu- 
larly of  a  man  I  quarrelled  with  at  Plymouth,  and  I 
suddenly  woke  up  and  saw  your  face  in  the  mirror." 

"  As  you  fancied." 

"It  was  no  fancy.  It  was  no  dream-face  that  I 
saw  —  dream-faces  are  always  elusive.  It  was  no 
dream-face,  it  was  yours." 

"  Or  one  like  mine." 

"  There  cannot  be  two." 

For  a  novice,"  repeated  Miranda,  with  a  smile, 
you  are  doing  very  well." 

Charnock  had  watched  her  carefully  while  he 
told  his  story,  on  the  chance  that  her  looks,  if  not 
her  lips,  might  give  him  some  clue  to  the  compre- 
hension of  his  mysterious  vision.  But  she  had 
expressed  merely  an  unconcerned  curiosity  and 
some  amusement. 

"  Shall  I  explain  your  vision  ?  "  said  she.  "  You 
must  have  seen  me  in  London  during  the  day  : 
the  recollection  that  you  had  seen  me  must  have 
lain  latent,  so  that  when  you  woke  up  you  saw  me 
in  your  mirror  and  did  not  remember  that  you 
had  seen  me  during  the  day." 

"  Were  you  at  any  theatre  this  day  week  ? ' 

"No,"  said  Miranda,  aftercounting  over  the  days. 

"  You  did  not  see  Macbeth  that  night  ? ' 

"  No." 

"  Then  it  is  impossible  I  should  have  seen  you. 
For  I  came  up  from  Plymouth  only  that  afternoon. 
I  drove  from  Paddington  to  my  hotel ;  from  the 
hotel  I  went  to  the  theatre  ;  from  the  theatre  I 
walked  back  to  the  hotel.     It  is  impossible." 

"It    is    very    strange,"    said    Miranda,    whose 


46  MIRANDA    OF   THE   BALCONY         chap. 

interest  was  increasing,  and  whose  sense  of  amuse- 
ment had  vanished  ;  for  she  saw  that  her  companion 
was  moved  by  something  more  than  curiosity.  It 
was  evident  to  her  from  his  urgent  tones,  from  the 
eagerness  of  his  face,  that  he  had  some  hidden  rea- 
son for  his  desire  to  fathom  the  mystery.  It  seemed 
to  her  that  he  nourished  some  intention,  some  pur- 
pose in  the  back  of  his  mind,  which  depended  for 
fulfilment  upon  whether  or  no  there  was  any  fea- 
sible solution. 

"  Tell  me  your  dream,"  she  said. 

"It  was  the  oddest  jumble,  —  it  had  neither 
sense  nor  continuity.  Moors  figured  in  it,  ships, 
Lady  Macbeth,  the  Major  with  his  card-case,  and 
the  stranger  who  swore  at  me  through  the  cab- 
window  at  Plymouth.  The  phrases  that  man  used 
came  into  it." 

What  phrases  ? " 

I  couldn't  repeat  to  you  the  most  eloquent. 
There  were  milder  ones,  however.  He  called  me 
a  fair  red-hotter  amongst  other  things,"  said 
Charnock,  laughing  at  his  recollections,  "  and 
expressed  a  wish  that  I  might  —  well,  sit  in  that 
cab  until  I  ante'd  up  in  kingdom  come. " 

Miranda  leaned  back  in  her  seat  and  opened  and 
shut  her  fan.    "He  was  a  stranger  to  you,  you  say?" 

"  Quite." 

"  You  are  sure  ?  " 

"  Quite." 

"You  had  never  seen  him  anywhere  —  any- 
where ?     Think  !  " 

Charnock  deliberated  for  a  few  seconds.  "  Never 
anywhere,"  he  replied. 


« 


-v       MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY  47 

There  was  a  moment's  silence.  Mrs.  Warriner 
gently  fanned  herself  as  she  leaned  back  in  the 
shadow  of  the  alcove.  "  Describe  him  to  me," 
she  said  quietly. 

"  A  man  of  a  slight  figure,  a  little  under  the 
middle  height,  fair  hair,  bright  blue  eyes,  an  open, 
good-natured  face,  and  I  should  say  a  year  or  so 
under  forty.     I  took  him  to  be  a  sailor." 

The  fan  stopped.  Miranda  let  it  fall  upon  her 
lap.  That  was  the  only  movement  which  she 
made,  and  from  the  shadow  of  the  recess,  she  said : 
"  There  is  no  explanation." 

Charnock  drew  a  breath  and  leaned  forward,  his 
hands  clasped,  his  elbows  on  his  knees.  It  seemed 
he  had  been  waiting  for  just  that  one  sentence. 
As  he  sat  now  his  face  was  in  the  light,  and  Miranda 
remarked  a  certain  timidity  upon  it,  as  though  now 
that  he  had  heard  the  expected  words,  he  dared  not 
after  all  reply  to  them.  He  did  not  look  towards 
her.  He  stared  at  the  dancers,  but  with  vacant 
eyes.  He  saw  nothing  of  their  jewels,  or  their 
coloured  robes,  or  the  flash  of  their  silver  feet,  and 
the  noise  of  their  chatter  sounded  very  dimly  in 
his  ears.  He  was  quite  occupied,  indeed,  with  the 
hardihood  of  what  he  had  it  on  his  tongue's  tip  to 
say  —  when  he  had  gained  sufficient  courage. 

Miranda  moved  restlessly,  unbuttoned  a  glove, 
drew  it  off  her  wrist  unconsciously,  and  then  was 
still  as  Charnock  began  to  speak. 

"  Is  there  no  explanation  ?  "  he  asked.  "  I 
imagined  one.  You  know  how  fancies  come  to 
one  in  the  dark.  That  night  I  imagined  one.  I 
laughed  at  it  the  next  morning,  but  now,  since  I 


48  MIRANDA    OF   THE   BALCONY         chap. 

have  talked  with  you,  I  have  been  wondering 
whether  by  any  miracle,  it  might  be  true.  And  if 
there's  an  infinitesimal  chance  that  it's  true,  I 
think  that  I  ought  to  tell  you  it,  even  though  it 
may  seem  merely  ridiculous,  even  though  it  may 
offend  you.  But  I  have  lived  for  the  most  part  of 
my  time,  since  I  was  a  man,  in  the  waste  places  of 
the  earth,  and  what  may  well  be  an  impertinence  — 
for  we  are  only  these  few  minutes  acquainted  — 
you  will  perhaps  pardon  on  that  account." 

He  received  no  encouragement  to  continue  ;  on 
the  other  hand  he  received  no  warning  to  stop,  for 
Miranda  neither  spoke  nor  moved.  He  did  not 
look  at  her  face  lest  he  should  read  the  warning 
there  ;  but  from  the  tail  of  his  eye,  he  could  see 
the  fan,  the  white  glove  lying  idle  upon  the  black 
satin  of  her  dress.  The  skirt  hung  from  her  knee 
to  her  foot  without  a  stir  in  its  folds,  nor  did  her 
foot  stir  where  it  showed  beneath  the  hem.  She 
remained  in  a  pose  of  most  enigmatical  quietude. 

"  The  face  which  my  mirror  showed  to  me,"  he 
went  on,  "  was  your  face,  as  I  said  ;  but  in  expres- 
sion it  was  not  your  face  as  I  see  it  to-night.  It 
was  very  troubled,  it  was  very  pale ;  the  eyes 
haunted  me  because  of  the  pain  in  them,  and  be- 
cause of —  something  else  beside.  It  was  a  tortured 
face  I  saw,  and  the  eyes  seemed  to  ask  —  but  to  ask 
proudly  —  for  help.  Is  it  plain,  the  explanation 
which  occurred  to  me  ? '  His  voice  sank  ;  he 
went  on,  slowly  choosing  every  word  with  care, 
and  speaking  it  with  hesitation.  "  I  imagined  that 
out  of  all  the  millions  of  women  in  the  world,  here 
was  one  who  needed  help  —  my  help,  who  was 


iv  MIRANDA    OF   THE   BALCONY  49 

allowed  to  appeal  to  me  for  it,  without,  if  you 
understand,  making  any  appeal  at  all,  and  the  ex- 
planation was  not  ....  unpleasant  ....  to  a  man 
who  lives  much  alone.  In  fact  it  has  been  so  pleas- 
ant, and  has  become  so  familiar  during  this  last 
week,  that  when  I  saw  you  to-night  without  a  care, 
just  as  I  saw  you  that  night  at  Monte  Carlo," 
and  indeed  it  seemed  to  Charnock  that  the  black 
dress  she  wore  alone  marked  the  passage  of  those 
six  years,  —  "  I  am  ashamed  to  say  that  I  was  dis- 
appointed." 

"  Yes,"  said  Miranda.  "  I  noticed  the  disap- 
pointment, but  there's  a  simpler  explanation  of  the 
troubled  face  than  yours.  You  had  been  to  Mac- 
beth that  evening ;  Lady  Macbeth  played  a  part 
in  your  dreams.  What  if  Lady  Macbeth  lent  her 
pallor  and  her  distress  to  the  face  which  you  saw 
in  your  mirror  ?  " 

Charnock  swung  abruptly  round  towards  her.  It 
was  not  the  explanation  which  surprised  him,  but 
the  altered  voice  she  used.  And  if  her  voice  sur- 
prised him,  he  was  shocked  and  startled  by  her 
looks.  She  was  still  leaning  back  in  the  shadow  of 
the  alcove,  and  her  head  rested  against  the  dark 
wood-panels.  She  did  not  move  when  he  looked 
towards  her. 

"  My  God,"  he  said  in  a  hushed  and  trembling 
whisper,  and  she  gave  no  sign  that  she  heard.  She 
might  have  fainted,  but  that  her  eyes  glittered  out 
of  the  shadow  straight  and  steadily  into  his.  She 
might  be  dead  from  the  whiteness  of  her  face 
against  the  panels,  but  that  her  bosom  rose  and  fell. 

"  What  can  I  do  ?  "  he  exclaimed. 


50  MIRANDA    OF   THE   BALCONY         chap. 

"  Hush  !  "  she  replied,  and  rose  to  her  feet. 
"  Here  is  Lady  Donnisthorpe."  She  walked 
abruptly  past  him  across  the  room  to  the  open 
window.  Charnock  remained  nailed  to  the 
ground,  following  her  with  his  eyes.  For  in 
that  alcove,  leaning  against  the  dark  panels,  he 
had  seen  not  merely  the  features,  but  the  expres- 
sion on  the  features,  he  had  seen  exact  in  every 
detail  the  face  which  he  had  seen  in  the  polished 
darkness  of  his  mirror.  The  sheen  of  the  dark 
polished  panels  helped  the  illusion.  His  fancy 
had  come  true,  was  transmuted  into  fact.  Some- 
where, somehow,  he  was  to  meet  that  woman.  He 
had  met  her  here  and  in  this  way,  and  her  eyes 
and  her  face  uttered  her  distress  as  with  a  piercing 
cry.  Her  eyes  !  The  resemblance  was  perfect  to 
the  last  detail.  For  Charnock  ventured  to  sur- 
mise in  them  the  same  involuntary  appeal  which 
he  had  seen  in  the  eyes  that  had  looked  out  from 
his  mirror.  What  then  if  the  rest  were  true  ? 
What  if  his  explanation  was  as  true  as  the  true 
facts  which  it  explained?  What  if  it  was  given  to 
him  and  to  her  to  stand  apart  from  their  fellows  in 
this  mysterious  relation  ?   .  .   .  . 

He  saw  that  Miranda  was  already  near  the 
window,  that  Lady  Donnisthorpe  was  approaching 
him.  He  followed  instantly  in  Miranda's  steps, 
and  Lady  Donnisthorpe,  perceiving  his  attention, 
had  the  complaisance  to  turn  aside.  For  the 
window  opened  on  to  a  balcony  wherein  discreet 
palms  sheltered  off  a  nook.  There  was  one  of 
Lady  Donnisthorpe's  guests  who  did  not  share 
ner  ladyship's  complacency.   A  censorious  dowager 


iv  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY  51 

sitting  near  to  the  window  had  kept  an  alert  eye 
upon  the  couple  in  the  recess  during  the  last  three 
dances;  and  each  time  that  her  daughter — a  pretty 
girl  with  hair  of  the  palest  possible  gold,  and  light 
blue  eyes  that  were  dancing  with  a  child's  delight  at 
all  the  wonders  of  a  first  season  —  returned  to  the 
shelter  of  her  portly  frame,  the  dowager  drew 
moral  lessons  for  her  benefit  from  the  text  of  the 
oblivious  couple.  She  remarked  with  pain  upon 
their  increasing  infatuation  for  each  other ;  she 
pointed  out  to  her  daughter  a  hapless  youth  who 
tiptoed  backwards  and  forwards  before  Mrs.  War- 
riner,  with  a  dance-card  in  his  hand,  too  timorous 
to  interrupt  the  intimate  conversation  ;  and  when 
Mrs.  Warriner  dropped  a  glove  as  she  stepped 
over  the  window-sill  on  to  the  balcony,  the  dow- 
ager nudged  her  daughter  with  an  elbow. 

"  Now,  Mabel,  there's  a  coquette,"  she  said. 

Charnock  was  close  behind,  and  overheard  the 
triumphant  remark. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  said  politely,  "it 
was  the  purest  accident." 

The  dowager  bridled;  her  face  grew  red;  she 
raised  her  tortoiseshell  glasses  and  annihilated 
Charnock  with  a  single  stare.  Charnock  had  the 
audacity  to  smile.  He  stooped  and  picked  up 
the  glove.  Mrs.  Warriner  had  indeed  dropped 
the  glove  by  accident;  but  since  it  fell  in  Char- 
nock's  way  and  since  he  picked  it  up,  it  was  to 
prove,  like  the  handbill  at  Gibraltar  and  the  draft 
on  Lloyd's  bank,  a  thing  trivial  in  itself,  but  the 
opportunity  of  strange  events. 


CHAPTER   V 

WHEREIN      CHARNOCK      AND       MIRANDA       IMPROVE 
THEIR     ACQUAINTANCESHIP     IN     A     BALCONY 

Lady  Donnisthorpe's  house  stood  in  Oueen 
Anne's  Gate,  and  the  balcony  overlooked  St. 
James's  Park.  There  Charnock  found  Miranda  ; 
he  leaned  his  elbows  upon  the  iron  balustrade, 
and  for  a  while  neither  of  them  spoke.  It  was  a 
clear  night  of  early  June,  odorous  with  messages 
of  hedgerows  along  country  lanes  and  uplands  of 
young  grass,  and  of  bells  ringing  over  meadows. 
In  front  of  them  the  dark  trees  of  the  Park 
rippled  and  whispered  to  the  stray  breaths  of 
wind ;  between  the  trees  one  line  of  colourless 
lamps  marked  the  footpath  across  the  bridge  to 
the  Mall  ;  and  the  carriages  on  the  outer  road- 
way ringed  that  enclosure  of  thickets  and  lawns 
with  flitting  sparks  of  fire. 

Charnock  was  still  holding  the  glove  which  he 
had  picked  up  on  the  window-sill. 

"That's  mine,"  said  Miranda;  "thank  you," 
and  she  stretched  out  her  hand  for  it. 

"  Yes,"  said  Charnock,  absently,  and  he  drew 
the  glove  through  his  fingers.  It  was  a  delicate 
trifle  of  white  kid ;  he  smoothed  it,  and  his  hand 

5* 


chap.^v  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY  53 

had  the  light  touch  of  a  caress.  "  Miranda,"  he 
said  softly  but  distinctly,  and  lingered  on  the 
word  as  though  the  sound  pleased  him. 

Miranda  started  and  then  sank  back  again  in 
her  chair  with  a  quiet  smile.  Very  likely  she 
blushed  at  this  familiar  utterance  of  her  name, 
and  at  the  caressing  movement  of  his  hand  which 
accompanied  and  perhaps  interpreted  the  utter- 
ance, or  perhaps  it  was  only  at  a  certain  throb  of 
her  own  heart  that  she  blushed.  At  all  events, 
the  darkness  concealed  the  blush,  and  Charnock 
was  not  looking  in  her  direction. 

The  freshness  of  the  night  air  had  restored  her, 
but  she  was  very  willing  to  sit  there  in  silence  so 
long  as  no  questions  were  asked  of  her,  and  Char- 
nock had  rather  the  air  of  one  who  works  out  a 
private  problem  for  himself  than  one  who  seeks 
the  answer  from  another. 

The  clock  upon  Westminster  tower  boomed 
the  hour  of  twelve.  Miranda  noticed  that  Char- 
nock raised  his  head  and  listened  to  the  twelve 
heavy  strokes  with  a  smile.  His  manner  was  that 
of  a  man  who  comes  unexpectedly  upon  some 
memento  of  an  almost  forgotten  time. 

"  That  is  a  familiar  sound  to  you,"  said  Mrs. 
Warriner,  and  she  was  suddenly  sensible  of  a  great 
interest  in  all  of  the  past  life  of  this  man  who  was 
standing  beside  her. 

"  Yes,"  said  Charnock,  turning  round  to  her. 

"  You  lived  in  Westminster,  then  ?  At  one  time  I 
used  to  stay  here  a  good  deal.  Wheredid  you  live?  " 

Charnock  laughed.  "You  would  probably  be 
no  wiser  if  I  named  the  street ;  it  is  not  of  those 


54  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY         chap. 

which  you  and  your  friends  go  up  and  down,"  he 
replied  simply.  "Yes,  I  lived  in  Westminster 
for  three  hard,  curious  years." 

"  It's  not  only  the  years  that  are  curious,"  said 
Miranda,  but  the  hint  was  lost,  for  Charnock  had 
turned  back  to  the  balustrade.  She  was  still, 
however,  inclined  to  persist.  The  details  which 
Lady  Donnisthorpe  had  sown  in  her  mind,  now 
bore  their  crop.  Interested  in  the  man,  now  that 
she  knew  him,  she  was  also  interested  in  his  career, 
in  his  hurried  migratory  life,  in  the  mystery  which 
enveloped  his  youth,  and  all  the  more  because  of  the 
contrast  between  her  youth  and  his.  He  had  lived 
for  three  years  in  some  small  back  street  of  West- 
minster ;  very  likely  she  had  more  than  once  rubbed 
shoulders  with  him  in  the  streets  on  the  occasions 
when  she  had  come  up  from  her  home  in  Suffolk. 
That  home  became  instantly  very  distinct  in  her 
memories  —  an  old  manor-house  guarded  by  a  moat 
of  dark  silent  water,  a  house  of  broad  red-brick 
chimneys  whereon  she  had  known  the  roses  to 
bloom  on  a  Christmas-day,  and  of  leaded  windows 
upon  which  the  boughs  of  trees  continually  tapped. 

"  I  should  like  to  show  you  my  home,"  she 
said  with  a  sudden  impulse,  and  did  not  check 
herself  before  the  words  were  spoken.  "  Perhaps 
some  day,"  she  continued  hurriedly,  "  you  will 
tell  me  of  those  three  years  you  spent  in  West- 
minster." And  she  hoped  that  he  had  not  heard 
the  first  sentence  of  the  two. 

"  I  will  make  an  exchange,"  said  Charnock.  "  I 
will  exchange  some  day,  if  you  will,  the  history  of 
my  three  years  for  the  history  of  your  trouble." 


v  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY  55 

He  turned  eagerly  towards  her,  but  she  held  up 
her  hand. 

"  Please,  please  ! '  she  said  in  a  low,  shaking 
voice,  for  her  distress  had  come  back  upon  her. 
She  had  begun,  if  not  to  forget  it,  at  all  events  to 
dull  the  remembrance  of  it  since  she  had  come  out 
upon  the  balcony.  She  had,  in  a  word,  sought 
and  found  a  compensation  in  the  new  friendship 
of  this  man,  and  a  relief  in  his  very  naivete.  But 
he  had  brought  her  anxieties  back  to  her,  as  he 
clearly  understood,  for  he  said :  "  That  is  the 
second  time  this  evening.      I  am  sorry." 

"  The  second  time  ? '  said  Miranda,  quickly. 
"  Why  do  you  say  that  ?  " 

"Am  I  wrong?"  he  asked.  "Am  I  wrong  in 
fearing  that  I  myself  have  brought  on  you  the 
trouble  which  I  fancied  I  was  to  avert?  I  should 
be  glad  to  know  that  I  was  wrong,  for  since  I 
have  stood  here  on  this  balcony,  that  fear  has 
been  growing.  Your  face  so  changed  at  the  story 
I  told  you.  At  what  point  of  it  I  do  not  know.  I 
was  not  looking.  Did  I  show  you  some  misfortune 
you  were  unaware  of,  and  might  still  be  unaware 
of,  if  I  had  only  held  my  tongue  ?  In  offering  to 
shield  you,  did  I  only  strike  at  you  ?  I  do  not 
know,  I  am  in  the  dark."  He  spoke  in  a  voice 
of  intense  remorse,  pleading  for  a  proof  that  his 
fear  was  groundless,  and  Miranda  did  not  answer 
him  at  all.  "  I  do  not  ask  you  to  speak  freely 
now,"  he  continued ;  "  but  sometime  perhaps 
you  will.     You  see,  we  shall   be   neighbours." 

"Neighbours!'  exclaimed  Miranda,  and  her 
lips  parted  in  a  smile. 


56  MIRANDA    OF   THE   BALCONY         chap. 

"You  live  at  Ronda,  Lady  Donnisthorpe  tells 
me ;    my   headquarters    now   are   at   Algeciras ; ' 
and  he  told  her  briefly  of  his  business  there. 

"  My  cousin  did  not  tell  me  that,"  said  Miranda. 

Lady  Donnisthorpe,  in  the  wisdom  of  her  heart, 
had,  in  fact,  carefully  concealed  Charnock's  place 
of  abode,  thinking  it  best  that  Miranda  should 
learn  it  from  Charnock's  lips,  and  be  pleasantly 
surprised  thereby.  That  Miranda  was  pleasantly 
surprised  might  perhaps  have  been  inferred  by  a 
more  experienced  man,  from  the  extreme  chilli- 
ness of  her  reply. 

"  Ronda  is  at  the  top,"  she  said,  "  Algeciras  at 
the  bottom,  and  there  are  a  hundred  miles  of  hill- 
side and  cork-forest  between." 

"  There  are  also,"  retorted  Charnock,  "  a  hun- 
dred miles  of  railway." 

"Shall  we  go  back  into  the  room  ?  "  suggested 
Miranda. 

"  If  you  wish.  Only  there  is  something  else  I 
am  trying  to  say  to  you,"  said  Charnock,  and  at 
that  Miranda  laughed,  and  laughed  with  a  fresh 
bright  trill  of  amusement.  It  broke  suddenly  and 
spontaneously  from  her  lips  and  surprised  Char- 
nock, who  was  at  a  loss  to  reconcile  it  with  the 
signs  of  her  distress.  He  turned  towards  her. 
"  What  is  it  ?  "   he  asked. 

"  Nothing,"  she  said  hastily,  "  nothing  at  all." 

"  You  wished  to  go  in  ?  " 

"Not  now,  —  not  for  the  world." 

She  was  genuinely  amused.  Her  eyes  laughed 
at  him  in  the  starlight.  Charnock  was  very  con- 
tent at  the  change  in  her,  though  he  did  not  at  all 


v       MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY  57 

understand  it.  It  made  what  he  meant  to  say 
easier,  if  he  could  only  find  the  means  to  say  it. 
He  held  the  means  unwittingly  in  his  hand,  for 
he  held  Miranda's  glove.  It  was  that  glove  which 
provoked  her  amusement.  Charnock,  with  a 
pertinacity  which  was  only  equalled  by  his  absence 
of  mind,  was  trying  to  force  his  hand  into  Mrs. 
Warriner's  glove.  He  had  already  succeeded  in 
slipping  the  long  sleeve  of  it  over  his  palm  ;  he 
was  now  engaged  in  the  more  strenuous  task  of 
fitting  his  fingers  into  its  slender  fingers,  as  he 
leaned  upon  the  balcony. 

"  You  are  laughing,  no  doubt,  at  my  pertinacity, 
and  it  is  true  that  our  acquaintanceship  is  very 
slight,"  said  he. 

"  In  a  moment  you  will  irretrievably  destroy 
it,"  said  she,  looking  at  the  glove. 

"  I  hope  you  don't  mean  that,"  he  answered 
sadly,  as  he  smoothed  the  finger-tip  of  the  fore- 
finger down  upon  his  own,  and  at  once  proceeded 
to  the  other  fingers.  The  little  finger  in  particu- 
lar needed  a  deal  of  strenuous  coaxing,  and  caused 
him  to  break  up  his  words  with  intervals  of  physi- 
cal effort.  "Because — as  I  say  —  we  shall  be 
neighbours  —  there!  " —  The  exclamation  "there" 
meant  that  he  was  satisfied  with  the  third  finger.  — 
"A  hundred  miles  of  hill-side  —  in  a  foreign 
country  —  on   a   map  a  thumb  will   cover  it." 

"  Will  it  cover  a  thumb,  though  ?  "  asked 
Miranda,  who  took  a  feminine  interest  in  the 
durability  of  her  glove.  She  leaned  forward  in  a 
delighted  suspense,  as  Charnock  proceeded  to 
answer  her  question   by  experiment. 


58  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY  chap. 

"  There's  the  railway  too,"  said  he,  as  he  struggled 
with  the  thumb  of  the  glove,  "  and  as  I  say,  a 
foreign  country.  Very  likely,  we  shall  be  nearer 
neighbours,  though  you  are  at  Ronda  and  I  am  at 
Algeciras,  than  if  you  lived  in  this  house  and  I  at 
the  house  next  door.  Because  after  all  there's  one 
advantage  in  trouble  of  any  kind.  Trouble  is  the 
short  foot-path  to  friendship,  don't  you  think  ? 
Like  that  line  of  lamps  across  the  Park." 

Miranda  forgot  the  glove.  She  was  touched  by 
the  deep  sincerity  of  his  voice,  by  the  modesty  of 
his  manner.  She  rose  from  her  chair  and  stood  by 
his  side  at  the  balustrade.  "  Yes,"  she  answered, 
looking  at  the  circling  lights  on  the  outer  rim  of 
the  Park.  "  I  think  that  is  true.  It  spares  one 
the  long  carriage-road  of  ceremonial  acquaintance- 
ship. But,"  she  said  thoughtfully,  "  I  do  not 
know  whether  after  all  I  shall  soon  return  to 
Ronda." 

She  heard  a  little  sound  of  something  tearing, 
and  there  was  Charnock  contemplating  in  amaze 
ment  upon  his  left  hand  a  white  kid  glove  of 
which  the  kid  was  ripped  across  the  palm.  He  felt 
in  his  pocket  with  his  right  hand  and  drew  out  both 
of  his  own  gloves,  which  he  had  taken  off  while  he 
was  talking  in  the  alcove.  Then  he  looked  at 
Miranda  and  his  amazement  became  remorse. 

"  It's  yours  !  "  he  said.  "  Of  course,  I  picked 
it  up.  I  had  forgotten  even  that  I  was  holding 
it.     I  had  no  notion  that  I  was  putting  it  on." 

"  I  gave  you  fair  warning,"  said  Miranda,  with  a 
frank  laugh,  "but  you  would  not  pay  any  attention." 

Charnock    looked  at  her  with  absolute  incre- 


v       MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY  59 

dulity.  "  You  mean  to  say  that  you  don't  mind  ? 
You  are  wonderful !  " 

"  It  seems  almost  too  late  to  mind,"  said  she, 
looking  at  the  tattered  glove. 

"  Or  to  mend,"  said  he,  ruefully,  drawing  it 
off  with  extreme  care,  and  as  a  new  thought  struck 
him.  "  Oh  !  "  he  exclaimed,  "  suppose  it  had  be- 
longed to  anyone  else,  the  dowager  in  the  window, 
for  instance."  He  dangled  the  glove  in  the  air. 
"  Now  that's  a  lesson  !  " 

"  Perhaps  it's  a  parable,"  said  Miranda,  as  she 
took  the  glove  from  him. 

Charnock  saw  that  she  had  grown  quite  serious. 
"  If  so,"  said  he,  "  I  cannot  expound  it." 

"  Shall  I  ?  "  The  smile  had  faded  from  her  lips, 
her  eyes  shone  upon  his,  with  no  longer  a  sparkle 
of  merriment,  but  very  still,  very  grave. 

"Yes." 

"  Well,  then,"  she  said  slowly,  "  shall  I  say  that 
no  man  can  offer  a  woman  his  friendship  or  help 
without  doing  her  a  hurt  in  some  other  way  ? ' 

His  eyes  as  steadily  answered  back  to  hers. 
"  Do  you  believe  that  ?  "  he  said.  He  spoke  quite 
simply  without  raising  his  voice  in  any  way,  but 
none  the  less  Mrs.  Warriner  was  certain  that  she 
had  but  to  say  "  yes,"  and  there  would  bean  end, 
now  and  forever,  of  his  questions,  of  his  help,  of 
his  friendship,  of  everything  between  them  beyond 
the  merest  acquaintanceship.  Perhaps  some  day 
they  might  cross  the  harbour  together  in  the  same 
ferry  from  Algeciras  to  Gibraltar,  and  bow  and 
exchange  a  careless  word,  but  that  would  be  all  — 
and  only  that  until  his  work  was  finished  there. 


60  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY         chap. 

"  Do  you  believe  that  ?  " 

She  was  half  tempted  to  say  "  yes  " ;  but  she  had 
an  instinct,  a  premonition,  that  whatever  answer 
she  made  would  stretch  out  to  unknown  and  in- 
calculable consequences.  She  seemed  to  herself 
to  be  drawing  the  lots  which  one  way  or  another 
would  decide  and  limit  all  her  years  to  come. 
Upon  the  tiny  "  yes  "  or  "no"  between  which  she 
had  to  make  her  choice,  her  whole  life  was  destined 
to  pivot.  Accordingly,  she  made  up  her  mind 
to  say  neither,  but  to  turn  the  matter  into  a  jest. 
"  Here's  the  proof,"  said  she,  as  lightly  as  she 
could,  and  she  flourished  the  glove. 

But  the  man  steadily  held  her  to  his  question, 
with  his  eyes,  with  his  voice,  with  his  very  atti- 
tude.    "  Do  you  believe  that  ?  "  he  repeated. 

"  I  don't  know  whether  I  believe  it,"  she 
murmured  resentfully.  "I  don't  see  why  I  should 
be  asked  to  mean  what  I  say,  or  whether  I  mean 
what  I  say.  .  .  .  But  it  might  be  so,  I  think. 
....   I  don't  know.   ...   I  don't  know." 

To  her  relief  Charnock  moved.  If  he  had  stood 
like  that,  demanding  an  answer  with  every  line  of 
his  body,  for  another  instant,  she  knew  she  would 
have  been  compelled  to  answer  one  way  or  another; 
and  she  felt  certain,  too,  that  whatever  answer  she 
gave  it  would  have  been  the  one  she  would  have 
wished  afterwards  to  take  back.  "  Now  if  you 
are  satisfied,"  she  added  with  a  touch  of  petulance, 
"  we  will  go  in." 

He  moved  aside  for  her  to  pass,  but  before  she 
had  time  to  step  forward,  he  moved  back  again  and 
barred  the  way.     "  No,  please,"  he  said  quickly, 


v       MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY  61 

and  his  voice  thrilled  as  though  he  had  hit  upon 
an  inspiration. 

"  Lady  Donnisthorpe  told  me  you  were  rather 
unconventional,"  she  remarked  with  a  sigh,  which 
was  only  half  of  it  a  jest ;  and  she  drew  back  as 
though  she  did  not  wish  to  hear  what  he  had  to 
say,  as  though  she  almost  feared  to  hear  it. 

But  Charnock  barely  even  remarked  her  reluc- 
tance. "  That  glove,"  he  said,  and  pointed  to  it. 
Miranda  imagined  that  he  was  reaching  out  a  hand 
for  it. 

"  I  have  heaps  of  pairs,"  she  exclaimed,  whipping 
it  behind  her  back ;  "  there  is  no  need  to  trouble 
about  it  at  all." 

"  I  do  not  ask  for  it ;  I  had  no  thought  of  that. 
On  the  contrary,  I  would  ask  you  to  keep  it  if  you 
will.  There  is  something  else  which  I  was  trying 
to  say,  if  you  remember." 

"  Dear,  dear!"  said  Miranda,  ruefully,  "  I  could 
wish  after  all  that  you  had  trodden  on  my  toes." 
"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  Charnock,  and 
instantly  he  drew  aside.  He  left  the  way  clear 
for  her.  She  passed  him,  and  went  towards  the 
window,  from  which  the  lights  and  the  music 
streamed  out  into  the  night.  Had  he  followed, 
she  would  have  stepped  into  the  room,  amongst  the 
dancers ;  she  would  have  been  claimed  by  a  part- 
ner, and  she  would  have  seen  no  more  of  Charnock, 
and  the  only  consequences  of  this  interview  upon 
the  balcony  would  have  been  a  memory  in  her 
thoughts,  a  curiosity  in  her  speculations. 

But  Charnock  did  not  follow  her.  He  remained 
where  she  left  him,  and  her  feet  loitered  more  with 


62  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY        chap. 

every  step  she  took.  At  the  edge  of  the  window 
she  stopped.  For  the  second  time  that  evening  she 
became  aware  that  one  way  or  other  she  must  do 
the  irrevocable  thing.  It  was  a  mere  step  to  make 
across  the  sill  of  the  window,  from  the  stone  of  the 
balcony  to  the  parquet  of  the  ball-room  floor,  —  a 
thing  insignificant  in  itself  and  in  its  consequences 
most  momentous.  She  stood  for  a  second 
undecided.  The  sight  of  her  partner  looking 
about  the  room  decided  her.  She  came  back  to 
where  Charnock  stood  in  a  soldierly  rigidity. 

"  You  might  have  come  half-way  to  meet  me," 
she  said  in  a  whimsical  complaint,  and  then  very 
gently  :  "  I  will  hear  what  you  wish  to  say,  if  you 
will  still  say  it." 

"  What  I  mean  is  this,"  he  replied  ;  "  it  is  what 
I  was  .trying  to  say.  The  hardest  thing,  if  one 
ever  wants  help,  is — don't  you  think  ? — the  asking 
for  it.  I  could  not  say  that  to  you  until  I  had  hit 
upon  a  means  by  which  the  asking,should  it  ever  be 
necessary,  might  be  dispensed  with.  And  it  seemed 
to  me  that  there  was  something  providential  in  my 
tearing  that  glove  ;  for  that  torn  glove  can  be  the 
means,  if  ever  you  see  fit  to  use  it.  You  live  at 
Ronda ;  for  the  next  year  I  am  to  be  found  at 
Algeciras ;  you  will  only  have  to  send  that  torn 
glove  to  me  in  an  envelope.  I  shall  know  without 
a  word  from  you  ;  and  when  I  answer  it  by  coming 
up  to  you  at  Ronda,  it  will  be  understood  by  both 
of  us,  again  without  a  word,  why  I  have  come.  I 
shall  not  need  to  speak  at  all ;  you  will  only  need 
to  say  the  precise  particular  thing  which  needs  to 
be  done." 


v       MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY  63 

Miranda  stood  with  her  eyelids  closed,  and  her 
ungloved  hand  pressed  over  her  heart.  The  blood 
darkened  her  cheeks.  Charnock  saw  her  whole 
face  soften  and  sweeten.  "  I  understand,"  she  said 
in  a  low  voice.  "  I  might  appeal  and  be  spared  the 
humiliation  of  appealing,  like  the  face  in  your 
mirror." 

"  I  believe,"  said  he,  "  that  my  mirror  sent  me  a 
message  on  that  night.  I  have  tried  to  deliver 
it. 

Miranda  slowly  raised  her  eyes  and  they 
glistened  with  something  other  than  the  starlight. 
"  Thank  you,"  she  said  ;  "  for  the  delicacy  of  the 
thought  I  am  most  grateful.  What  woman  would 
not  be  ?  But  I  do  not  think  that  I  shall  ever  send 
you  the  glove  :  not  because  I  would  not  be  glad  to 
owe  gratitude  to  you,  but  just  for  the  same  reason 
which  has  kept  me  from  telling  you  anything  of 
mv  troubles.  Such  as  they  are  I  must  fight  them 
through  by  myself." 

This  time  she  passed  over  the  sill  into  the  ball- 
room ;  but  she  was  holding  the  glove  tight  against 
her  breast,  and  she  had  a  feeling  that  Charnock 
very  surely  knew  that  at  some  time  she  would 
send  it  to  him. 


CHAPTER   VI 

WHILE      CHARNOCK      BUILDS      CASTLES       IN       SPAIN, 
MIRANDA    RETURNS    THERE 

The  anxious  dowager,  who  was  preparing  to 
depart  with  her  daughter,  had  just  risen  from  her 
seat  by  the  window  as  Miranda  stepped  over  the  sill 
into  the  ball-room.  She  sat  down  again,  however, 
for  she  had  a  word  or  two  to  say  concerning 
Miranda's  appearance. 

"  Muriel,"  she  observed,  "  take  a  good  look  at 
that  woman,  and  remember  that  if  ever  you  sit  out 
with  one  man  for  half-an-hour  on  a  cool  balcony 
you  can  make  no  greater  mistake  than  to  return 
with  a  flushed  face." 

"  Thank  you,  mother,"  said  Muriel,  who  was 
growing  restive  under  this  instructional  use  of  an 
evening  party.  "  I  will  take  the  first  opportunity 
of  practising  your  advice." 

At  this  moment  Charnock  stepped  over  the  sill. 
He  stepped  up  to  Mrs.  Warriner's  side  and  spoke 
to  her.  Mrs.  Warriner  stopped  within  a  couple  of 
yards  of  the  dowager  and  gave  her  hand,  and  with 
her  hand  her  eyes,  to  her  companion. 

64 


chap,  vi      MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY  65 

"  Muriel,  look ! ':  said  the  censorious  one. 
"  How  vulgar  !  " 

"  Shall  I  listen  too  ?  "  asked  Muriel,  innocently. 

"  Do,  my  child,  do  ! '  said  the  dowager,  who 
was  impervious  to  sarcasm. 

What  was  said,  however,  did  not  reach  the 
dowager's  ears.  It  was,  indeed,  no  more  than  an 
interchange  of  "  good-nights,"  but  the  dowager 
bridled,  perhaps  out  of  disappointment  that  she  had 
not  heard. 

"  An  intriguing  woman  I  have  no  doubt,"  said 
she,  as  through  her  glasses  she  followed  Miranda's 
retreat. 

"  Surely  she  has  too  much  dignity,"  objected  the 
daughter. 

"  Dignity,  indeed  !  My  child,  when  you  know 
more  of  the  world,  you  will  understand  that  the 
one  astonishing  thing  about  such  women  is  not 
their  capacity  for  playing  tricks  but  their  incredible 
power  of  retaining  their  self-respect  while  they  are 
playing  them.     Now  we  will  go." 

The  dowager's  voice  was  a  high  one.  It  carried 
her  words  clearly  to  Charnock,  who  had  not  as  yet 
moved.  He  laughed  at  them  then  with  entire 
incredulity,  but  he  retained  them  unwittingly  in 
his  memory.  The  next  moment  the  dowager  swept 
past  him.  The  daughter  Muriel  followed,  and  as 
she  passed  Charnock  she  looked  at  him  with  an 
inquisitive  friendliness.  But  her  eyes  happened  to 
meet  his,  and  with  a  spontaneous  fellow-feeling  the 
girl  and  the  man  smiled  to  each  other  and  at  the 
dowager,  before  they  realised  that  they  were  totally 
unacquainted. 


66  MIRANDA    OF   THE   BALCONY         chap. 

Lady  Donnisthorpe  was  lying  in  wait  for  Char- 
nock.  She  asked  him  to  take  her  to  the  buffet. 
Charnock  secured  for  her  a  chair  and  an  ice,  and 
stood  by  her  side,  conversational  but  incommunica- 
tive. She  was  consequently  compelled  herself  to 
broach  the  subject  which  was  at  that  moment 
nearest  to  her  heart. 

"  How  did  you  get  on  with  my  cousin  ?  "  she 
asked. 

Charnock  smiled  foolishly  at  nothing. 

"  Oh,  say  something !  "  cried  Lady  Donnisthorpe, 
and  tapped  with  her  spoon  upon  the  glass  plate. 

"Tell  me  about  her,"  said  Charnock,  drawing 
up  another  chair. 

Lady  Donnisthorpe  lowered  her  voice  and  said 
with  great  pathos  :  "  She  is  most  unhappy." 

Charnock  gravely  nodded  his  head.     "  Why  ?  " 

Lady  Donnisthorpe  settled  herself  comfortably 
with  the  full  intention  of  wringing  Charnock's 
heart  if  by  any  means  she  could. 

"  Miranda  comes  of  an  old  Catholic  Suffolk 
family.  She  was  eighteen  when  she  married,  and 
that's  six  years  ago.  No,  six  years  and  a  half. 
Ralph  Warriner  was  a  Lieutenant  in  the  Artillery, 
and  made  her  acquaintance  when  he  was  staying  in 
the  neighbourhood  of  the  Pollards,  that's  Miranda's 
housein  Suffolk.  Ralph  listened  to  Allan  Bedlow's 
antediluvian  stories.  Allan  was  Miranda's  father, 
her  mother  died  long  ago.  Ralph  captured  the 
father ;  finally  he  captured  the  daughter.  Ralph, 
you  see,  had  many  graces  but  no  qualities  ;  he  was 
a  bad  stone  in  a  handsome  setting  and  Miranda 
was  no  expert.     How  could  she  be  ?     She  lived  at 


vi  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY  67 

Glenham  with  only  her  father  and  a  discontented 
relation,  called  Jane  Holt,  for  her  companions. 
Consequently  she  married  Ralph  Warriner,  who  got 
his  step  the  day  after  the  marriage,  and  the  pair 
went  immediately  to  Gibraltar.  Ralph  had  over- 
estimated Miranda's  fortune,  and  it  came  out  that 
he  was  already  handsomely  dipped ;  so  that  their 
married  life  began  with  more  than  the  usual  dis- 
advantages. It  lasted  for  three  years,  and  for  that 
time  only  because  of  Miranda's  patience  and  en- 
durance. She  is  very  silent  about  those  three  years, 
but  we  know  enough,"  and  Lady  Donnisthorpe 
was  for  a  moment  carried  away.  "  It  must  have 
been  intolerable,"  she  exclaimed.  "  Ralph  Warri- 
ner never  had  cared  a  snap  of  his  fingers  for  her. 
His  tastes  were  despicable,  his  disposition  utterly 
mean.  Cards  were  in  his  blood ;  I  verily  believe 
that  his  heart  was  an  ace  of  spades.  Add  to  that 
that  he  was  naturally  cantankerous  and  jealous.  To 
his  brother  officers  he  was  civil  for  he  owed  them 
money,  but  he  made  up  for  his  civility  by  becom- 
ing a  bullv  once  he  had  closed  his  own  front  door." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  interrupted  Charnock,  hurriedly,  as 
though  he  had  no  heart  to  hear  more ;  "  I  under- 
stand." 

"  You  can  understand  then  that  when  the  crash 
came  we  were  glad.  Two  years  after  the  marriage 
old  Allan  Bedlow  sickened.  Miranda  came  home 
to  nurse  him  and  Ralph  —  he  bought  a  schooner- 
yacht.  Allan  Bedlow  died;  Miranda  inherited, 
and  the  estate  was  settled  upon  her.  Ralph  could 
not  touch  a  farthing  of  the  capital,  and  he  was 
aggrieved.      Miranda  returned  to  Gibraltar,  and 


68  MIRANDA    OF   THE   BALCONY         chap. 

matters  went  from  worse  to  worse.  The  crash 
came  a  year  later.  The  nature  of  it  is  neither 
here  nor  there,  but  Ralph  had  to  go,  and  had  to 
go  pretty  sharp.  His  schooner-yacht  was  luck- 
ily lying  in  Gibraltar  Bay ;  he  slipped  on  board 
before  gunfire,  and  put  to  sea  as  soon  as  it  was 
dark  ;  and  he  was  not  an  instant  too  soon.  From 
that  moment  he  disappeared,  and  the  next  news 
we  had  of  him  was  the  discovery  of  his  body  upon 
Rosevear  two  years  afterwards." 

Charnock  hunted  through  the  jungle  of  Lady 
Donnisthorpe's  words  for  a  clue  to  the  distress 
which  Miranda  had  betrayed  that  evening,  but  he 
did  not  discover  one.  Another  question  forced  it- 
self into  his  mind.  "  Why  does  Mrs.  Warriner  live 
at  Ronda  ?  "  he  asked.  "  I  have  never  been  there, 
but  there  are  no  English  residents,  I  should  think." 

"  That  was  one  of  her  reasons,"  replied  Lady 
Donnisthorpe.  "At  least  I  think  so,  but  upon 
that  too  she  is  silent,  and  when  she  will  not  speak 
no  one  can  make  her.  You  see  what  Ralph  did 
was  hushed  up,  — it  was  one  of  those  cases  which  are 
hushed  up,  —  particularly  since  he  had  disappeared 
and  was  out  of  reach.  But  everyone  knew  that 
disgrace  attached  to  it.  His  name  was  removed 
from  the  Army  List.  Miranda  perhaps  shrank 
from  the  disgrace.  She  shrank  too,  I  think,  from 
the  cheap  pity  of  which  she  would  have  had  so  much. 
At  all  events  she  did  not  return  home,  she  sent  for 
Jane  Holt,  her  former  companion,  and  settled  at 
Ronda."  Lady  Donnisthorpe  looked  doubtfully 
at  Charnock.  "  Perhaps  there  were  other  reasons 
too,  sacred  reasons."    But  she  had  not  made  up  her 


vi  MIRANDA    OF   THE   BALCONY  69 

mind  whether  it  would  be  wise  to  explain  those 
other  reasons  before  her  guests  began  to  take  their 
leave  of  her ;  and  so  the  opportunity  was  lost. 

Charnock  walked  back  to  his  hotel  that  night 
in  a  frame  of  mind  entirely  strange  to  him.  He 
was  inclined  to  rhapsodise  ;  he  invented  and  rejected 
various  definitions  of  woman  ;  he  laughed  at  the 
worldly  ignorance  of  the  dowager.  "  A  woman, 
madam  "  —  he  imagined  himself  to  be  lecturing 
her  —  "  is  the  great  gift  to  man  to  keep  him  clean 
and  bright  like  a  favourite  sword."  He  composed 
other  and  no  less  irreproachable  phrases,  and  in 
the  midst  of  this  exhilarating  exercise  was  struck 
suddenly  aghast  at  the  temerity  of  his  own  conduct 
that  night,  at  the  remembrance  of  his  persistency. 
However,  he  was  not  in  a  mood  to  be  disheartened. 
The  dawn  took  the  sky  by  surprise  while  he  was 
still  upon  his  way.  The  birds  bustled  among  the 
leaves  in  the  gardens,  and  a  thrush  tried  his  throat, 
and  finding  it  clear  gave  full  voice  to  his  song. 
The  blackbirds  called  one  to  the  other,  and  a  rosy 
light  struck  down  the  streets.  It  was  morning, 
and  he  stopped  to  wonder  whether  Miranda  was 
yet  asleep.  He  hoped  so,  intensely,  for  the  sake 
of  her  invaluable  health. 

But  Miranda  was  seated  by  her  open  window, 
listening  to  the  birds  calling  in  the  Park,  and 
drawing  some  quiet  from  the  quiet  of  the  lawns 
and  trees ;  and  every  now  and  then  she  glanced 
across  her  shoulder  to  where  a  torn  white  glove 
lay  upon  the  table,  as  though  she  was  afraid  it 
would  vanish  by  some  enchantment. 

But  the  next  day  Miranda  packed  her  boxes,  and 


jo  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY      chap,  vi 

when  Charnock  called  upon  Lady  Donnisthorpe, 
he  was  informed  that  she  had  returned  in  haste  to 
Ronda.  Charnock  was  surprised,  for  he  remem- 
bered that  Mrs.  Warriner  had  expressed  a  doubt 
whether  she  would  ever  return  to  Ronda,  and 
wondered  what  had  occurred  to  change  her  mind. 
But  the  surprise  and  bewilderment  were  soon 
swallowed  up  in  a  satisfaction  which  sprang  from 
the  assurance  that  Miranda  and  he  were  after  all 
to  be  neighbours. 


CHAPTER   VII 

IN  WHICH  MAJOR  WILBRAHAM  DESCRIBES  THE 
STEPS  BY  WHICH  HE  ATTAINED  HIS  MAJORITY, 
AND  GIVES  MIRANDA  SOME  PARTICULAR  IN- 
FORMATION 

A  month  later  at  Ronda,  and  a  little  after  mid- 
day. In  the  cool  darkness  of  the  Cathedral,  under 
the  great  stone  dome  behind  the  choir,  Miranda 
was  kneeling  before  a  lighted  altar.  That  altar 
she  had  erected,  as  an  inscription  showed,  to  the 
memory  of  Ralph  Warriner,  and  since  her  return 
from  England  she  had  passed  more  than  an 
ordinary  proportion  of  her  time  in  front  of  it. 

This  morning,  however,  an  unaccountable  un- 
easiness crept  over  her.  She  tried  to  shake  the 
sensation  off  by  an  increased  devoutness,  but 
though  her  knees  were  bent,  there  was  no  prayer 
in  her  mind  or  upon  her  lips.  Her  uneasiness  in- 
creased, and  after  a  while  it  defined  itself.  Some- 
one was  watching  her  from  behind. 

She  ceased  even  from  the  pretence  of  prayer. 
Her  heart  fluttered  up  into  her  throat.  She  did 
not  look  round,  she  did  not  move,  but  she  knelt 
there  with    a    sinking    expectation,   in    the    light 

7» 


,  72  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY         chap. 

of  the  altar  candles,  and  felt  intensely  helpless 
because  their  yellow  warmth  streamed  full  upon 
her  face  and  person,  and  must  disclose  her  to  the 
watching  eyes  behind. 

She  knelt  waiting  for  a  familiar  voice  and  a 
familiar  step.  She  heard  only  the  grating  of  a 
chair  upon  the  stone  flags  beyond  the  choir,  and 
a  priest  droning  a  litany  very  far  away.  Here 
all  was  quiet  —  quiet  as  the  eyes  watching  her  out 
of  the  gloom. 

At  last,  resenting  her  cowardice,  she  rose  to 
her  feet  and  turned.  At  once  a  man  stepped  for- 
ward, and  her  heart  gave  a  great  throb  of  relief, 
as  she  saw  the  man  was  a  stranger. 

He  bowed,  and  with  an  excuse  for  his  intrusion, 
he  handed  her  a  card.  She  did  not  look  at  it,  for 
immediately  the  stranger  continued  to  speak,  in  a 
cool,  polite  voice,  and  it  seemed  to  her  that  all  her 
blood  stood  still. 

"  I  knew  Captain  Warriner  at  Gibraltar,"  he  said. 
"In  fact  I  may  say  that  I  know  him,  for  he  is  alive." 

Miranda  was  dimly  aware  that  he  waited  for  an 
answer,  and  then  excused  her  silence  with  an 
accent  of  sarcasm. 

"  Such  good  news  must  overwhelm  you,  no 
doubt.  I  have  used  all  despatch  to  inform  you  of 
it,  for  I  was  only  certain  of  the  truth  yesterday." 

And  to  her  amazement  Miranda  heard  herself 
reply  : 

"Then  I  discovered  it  a  month  before  you  did." 

The  next  thing  of  which  she  was  conscious  was 
a  thick  golden  mist  before  her  eyes.  The  golden 
mist  was  the  clear  sunlight  in  the  square  before  the 


vii  MIRANDA    OF   THE   BALCONY  73 

Cathedral.  Miranda  was  leaning  against  the  stone 
parapet,  though  how  she  was  there  she  could  not 
have  told.  She  had  expected  the  news.  She  had 
even  thought  that  the  man  standing  behind  her 
was  her  husband,  come  to  tell  her  it  in  person  ;  but 
nevertheless  the  mere  telling  of  it,  the  putting  of  it 
in  words,  to  quote  the  stranger's  phrase,  had  over- 
whelmed her.  Memories  of  afternoons  during 
which  she  had  walked  out  with  her  misery  to 
Europa  Point,  of  evenings  when  she  had  sat  with 
her  misery  upon  the  flat  house-top  watching  the 
riding  lights  in  Algeciras  Bay,  and  listening  to  the 
jingle  of  tambourines  from  the  houses  on  the  hill- 
side below — all  the  sordid  unnecessary  wretched- 
ness of  those  three  years  spent  at  Gibraltar  came 
crushing  her.  She  savoured  again  the  disgrace 
which  attended  upon  Ralph's  flight.  Her  first 
instinct,  when  she  learned  Ralph  was  alive,  had 
urged  her  to  hide,  and  at  this  moment  she  regretted 
that  she  had  not  obeyed  it.  She  regretted  that  she 
had  returned  to  Ronda,  where  Ralph  or  any  emis- 
sary of  his  at  once  could  find  her. 

But  that  was  only  for  a  moment.  She  had  re- 
turned to  Ronda  with  a  full  appreciation  of  the 
consequences  of  her  return,  and  for  reasons  which 
she  was  afterwards  to  explain,  and  of  which,  even 
while  she  stood  in  that  square,  she  resumed  courage 
to  approve. 

The  stranger  came  from  the  door  of  the  Cathe- 
dral and  crossed  to  her. 

"  Your  matter-of-fact  acceptance  of  my  news 
was  clever,  Mrs.  Warriner,"  he  said  with  a  notice- 
able sharpness.     "  Believe   me,  I  do  homage   to 


74  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY         chap. 

cleverness.  I  frankly  own  that  I  expected  a 
scene  of  sorts.  I  was  quite  taken  aback  —  a 
compliment,  I  assure  you,  upon  my  puff,"  and 
he  bowed  with  his  hand  on  his  breast.  "  You 
were  out  of  the  Cathedral  door  before  I  realised 
that  all  this  time  you  had  been  the  Captain's  — 
would  you  mind  if  I  said  accomplice  ? ' 

That  her  matter-of-fact  acceptance  of  the  news 
was  entirely  due  to  the  fact  that  the  news  dazed 
her,  Miranda  did  not  trouble  to  explain. 

"  The  altar,"  continued  the  stranger,  in  a  voice 
of  genuine  admiration,  "was  a  master-stroke.  To 
erect  an  altar  to  the  memory  of  a  husband  who 
is  still  alive,  to  pray  devoutly  before  it,  is  highly 
ingenious  and — may  I  say?  —  brave.  Religion  is 
a  trump-card,  Mrs.  Warriner,  in  most  of  the  games 
where  you  sit  with  law  and  order  for  your  oppo- 
nents ;  but  not  many  women  have  the  bravery  to 
play  it  for  its  value." 

Miranda  coloured  at  his  words.  There  had 
been  some  insincerity  in  her  daily  prayers  before  the 
altar,  though  the  self-satisfied  man  who  spoke  to 
her  had  not  his  finger  upon  the  particular  flaw, — 
enough  insincerity  to  cause  Miranda  some  shame, 
now  that  she  probed  it,  and  yet  in  the  insincerity 
there  had  been  also  something  sincere.  The  truth 
is,  Miranda  could  bring  herself  to  wish  neither 
that  her  husband  was  dead  if  he  was  alive,  nor  that 
he  should  come  to  life  again  if  he  was  dead ;  she 
made  a  compromise  —  she  daily  prayed  with  great 
fervour  for  his  soul's  salvation  before  the  altar  she 
had  erected  to  his  memory.  But  this  again  was 
not  a  point  upon  which  she  troubled  to  enlighten 


vn      MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY  75 

her  companion.  She  was  more  concerned  to  discover 
who  the  man  was,  and  on  what  business  he  had  come. 

"  You  knew  my  husband  at  Gibraltar,"  she  said, 
"  and  yet  —  " 

"  It  is  true,"  replied  the  man,  in  answer  to  her 
suspicion.  "  You  need  not  be  afraid,  Mrs.  Warriner. 
I  have  not  come  from  Scotland  Yard.  I  have  had, 
I  admit,  relations  with  the  police,  but  they  have 
always  been  of  an  involuntary  kind." 

"  You  assume,"  said  she,  with  some  pride,  "that 
I  have  reason  to  fear  Scotland  Yard,  whereas 
nothing  was  further  from  my  thoughts.  Only  you 
say  that  you  knew  my  husband  at  Gibraltar.  You 
pretend  to  come  from  him  —  " 

"  By  no  means.  We  are  at  cross-purposes,  I 
fancy.  I  do  not  come  from  him,  though  most 
certainly  I  did  know  him  at  Gibraltar.  But  I 
admit  that  he  never  invited  me  to  his  house." 

"  In  that  case,"  said  Miranda,  with  a  cold  bow, 
"  I  can  do  no  more  than  thank  you  for  the  news 
you  give  me  and  wish  you  a  good  day." 

She  walked  by  him.  He  turned  and  imper- 
turbably  fell  into  step  by  her  side.  "  Clever," 
said  he,  "  clever ! "  Miranda  stopped.  "Who  are 
you  ?     What  is  your  business? '    she  asked. 

"  As  to  who  I  am,  you  hold  my  card  in  your 
hand." 

Mrs.  Warriner  had  carried  it  from  the  Cathedral, 
unaware  that  she  held  it.  She  now  raised  it  to 
her  eyes  and  read,  Major  Ambrose  Wilbraham. 

Wilbraham  noted,  though  he  did  not  understand, 
the  rapid,  perplexed  glance  which  she  shot  at  him. 
Charnock  had  spoken  to  her  of  a  Major  Wilbraham, 


76  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY        chap. 

had  described  him,  and  undoubtedly  this  was  the 
man.  "  As  to  my  business,"  he  continued,  "  I 
give  you  the  news  that  your  husband  is  alive,  but 
I  have  also  something  to  sell." 

"  What  ?  " 

"  Obviously  my  silence.  It  might  be  awkward 
if  it  was  known  in  certain  quarters  that  Captain 
Warriner,  who  sold  the  mechanism  of  the  new 
Daventry  quick-firing  gun  to  a  foreign  power ; 
who  slipped  out  of  Gibraltar  just  a  night  before 
his  arrest  was  determined  on,  and  who  was  wrecked 
a  year  ago  in  the  Scillies,  is  not  only  alive,  but  in 
the  habit  of  paying  periodical  visits  to  England." 

Mrs.  Warriner  again  read  the  name  upon  the 
card.  "  Major  Ambrose  Wilbraham,"  she  said, 
with  an  incredulous  emphasis  on  the  Major. 

"  Captains,"  he  retorted  airily,  "  have  at  times 
deviated  from  the  narrow  path,  so  that  a  Major 
may  well  be  forgiven  a  peccadillo.  But  I  will 
not  deceive  you,  Mrs.  Warriner.  The  rank  was 
thrust  upon  me  by  a  barman  in  Shaftesbury 
Avenue,  and  I  suffered  it,  because  the  title  after 
all  gives  me  the  entrance  to  the  chambers  of  many 
young  men  who  have,  or  most  often  have  not, 
just  taken  their  degrees.  So  Major  I  am,  but  my 
mess  is  any  bar  within  a  mile  of  Piccadilly  Circus. 
Shall  we  say  that  I  hold  brevet  rank,  and  am 
seconded  for  service  in  the  noble  regiment  of  the 
soldiers  of  fortune  ?  " 

"And  the  enemies  you  fight  with,"  said  Miranda, 
with  a  contemptuous  droop  of  the  lips,  "  are 
women  like  myself." 

"  Pardon  me,"  retorted  Wilbraham,  with  un- 


vn      MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONT  77 

abashed  good  humour.  "  Women  like  yourself, 
Mrs.  Warriner,  are  the  vivandieres  whom  we 
regretfully  impress  to  supply  our  needs  upon  the 
march.  Our  enemies  are  the  rozzers  —  again  I 
beg  your  pardon  —  the  gentlemen  in  blue  who 
lurk,  at  the  street  corners,  by  whom  from  time  to 
time  we  are  worsted  and  interned." 

They  walked  across  the  square  along  a  narrow 
street  down  towards  the  Tajo,  that  deep  chasm 
which'  bisects  the  town.  The  heat  was  intense, 
the  road  scorched  under  foot,  and  they  walked 
slowly.  They  made  a  strange  pair  in  the  old, 
quaint  streets,  the  woman  walking  with  a  royal 
carriage,  delicate  in  her  beauty  and  her  dress;  the 
man  defiant,  battered  and  worn,  with  an  eye  which 
from  sheer  habit  scouted  in  front  and  aside  for  the 
chance  which  might  toss  his  day's  rations  in  his  way. 

Their  talk  was  stranger  still,  for  by  an  unex- 
pressed consent,  the  subject  of  the  bargain  to  be 
struck  was  deferred,  and  as  they  walked  Wilbraham 
illustrated  to  Miranda  the  career  of  a  man  who 
lives  by  his  wits,  and  dwelt  even  with  humour 
upon  its  alternations  of  prosperity  and  starvation. 
"  I  have  been  a  manager  of  theatrical  companies 
in  'the  smalls,'"  he  said,  "a  billiard-marker  at 
Trieste,  a  racing  tipster,  a  vender  of — photographs, 
and  I  once  carried  a  sandwich-board  down  Bond 
Street,  and  saw  the  women  I  had  danced  with  not 
so  long  before  draw  their  delicate  skirts  from  the 
defilement  of  my  rags.  However,  I  rose  to  a 
better  position.  It  is  funny,  you  know,  to  go 
right  under,  and  then  find  there  are  social  degrees 
in  the  depths.     I  have  had  good  times  too,  mind 


78  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY         chap. 

you.  Every  now  and  then  I  have  struck  an  Ai 
copper-bottomed  gold  mine,  and  then  there  were 
dress  suits  and  meals  running  into  one  another, 
and  ormolu  rooms  on  the  first  floor." 

Dark  sayings,  unintelligible  shibboleths,  came 
and  went  among  his  words  and  obscured  their 
meaning ;  accents  and  phrases  from  many  coun- 
tries betrayed  the  vicissitudes  of  his  life;  but  he 
spoke  with  the  accent  of  a  gentleman,  and  with 
something  of  a  gentleman's  good  humour  ;  so  that 
Miranda,  moved  partly  by  his  recital  and  perhaps 
partly  because  her  own  misfortunes  had  touched  her 
to  an  universal  sympathy,  began  to  be  interested  in 
the  man  who  had  experienced  so  much  that  was 
strange  to  her,  and  they  both  slipped  into  a  tolerance 
of  each  other  and  a  momentary  forgetfulness  of 
their  relationship  as  blackmailer  and  blackmailed. 

"  I  could  give  you  a  modern  edition  of  Don 
Guzman,"  he  said.  "  I  was  a  money-lender's  tout 
at  Gibraltar  at  one  time.  It's  to  that  I  owed  my 
acquaintance  with  Warriner.  It's  to  that  I  owe 
my  present  acquaintance  with  you."  He  came  to  a 
dead  stop  in  the  full  swing  of  narration.  He 
halted  in  his  steps  and  banged  the  point  of  his 
stick  down  into  the  road.  "  But  I  have  done  with 
it,"  he  cried,  and  drawing  a  great  breath,  he 
showed  to  Miranda  a  face  suddenly  illuminated. 
"  The  garrets  and  the  first  floors,  the  stale  billiard 
rooms,  the  desperate  scouting  for  food  like  a 
damned  sea-gull — I  beg  your  pardon,  Mrs.  War- 
riner. Upon  my  word,  I  do !  But  imagine 
a  poor  beggar  of  a  bankrupt  painter  who,  after 
fifteen  years,  suddenly  finds  himself  with  a  meal 


vn  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY  79 

upon  the  table  and  his  bills  paid  !  I  am  that 
man.  Fifteen  years  of  what  I  have  described  to 
you  !  It  might  have  been  less,  no  doubt,  but  I 
hadn't  learnt  my  lesson.  Fifteen  years,  and  from 
first  to  last  not  one  thing  done  of  the  few  things 
worth  doing ;  fifteen  years  of  a  murderous  hunt 
for  breakfast  and  dinner  !  And  I've  done  with  it, 
thanks  to  you,  Mrs.  Warriner."  And  his  face  har- 
dened at  once  and  gleamed  at  her,  very  cruel  and 
menacing.  "  Yes,  thanks  to  you  !  We'll  not 
forget  that."  And  as  he  resumed  his  walk  the 
astounding  creature  began  gaily  to  quote  poetry : 

"  I  resume 
Life  after  death  ;  for  'tis  no  less  than  life 
After  such  long,  unlovely  labouring  days. 

A  great  poet,  Mrs.  Warriner.  What  do  you 
think  ? " 

"  No  doubt,"  said  Miranda,  absently.  That  one 
cruel  glance  had  chilled  the  sympathy  in  her ; 
Major  Wilbraham  would  not  spare  either  Ralph  or 
herself  with  the  memory  of  those  fifteen  years  to 
harden  him. 

They  came  to  the  Ciudad,  the  old  intricate 
Moorish  town  of  tortuous  lanes  in  the  centre  of 
Ronda.  Before  a  pair  of  heavy  walnut  doors 
curiously  encrusted  with  bright  copper  nails 
Wilbraham  came  to  a  stop.  "Your  house,  I 
think,  Mrs.  Warriner,"  and  he  took  off  his  hat 
and  wiped  his  forehead. 

"  I  should  prefer,"  said  she,  "  to  hear  what  you 
have  to  say  in  the  Alameda." 

"  As  you  will.  I  am  bound  to  say  that  I  could 
have  done  with   a   soda  and   I'm  so  frisky,  but 


80  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY         chap. 

I  recognise  that  I  have  no  right  to  trespass  upon 
your  hospitality." 

They  went  on,  crossed  a  small  plaza,  and  so 
came  down  to  the  Tajo.  A  bridge  spans  the 
ravine  in  a  single  arch  ;  in  the  centre  of  the  bridge 
Miranda  stopped,  leaned  over  the  parapet  and 
looked  downwards.  Wilbraham  followed  her 
example.  For  three  hundred  feet  the  walls  of  the 
gorge  fell  sheer,  at  the  bottom  the  turbulence  of 
a  torrent  foamed  and  roared,  at  the  top  was  the 
span  of  the  bridge.  In  the  brickwork  of  the  arch 
a  tiny  window  looked  out  on  air. 

"  Do  you  see  that  window  ? '  said  Miranda, 
drily.  "  The  prison  is  underfoot  in  the  arch  of 
the  bridge." 

"  Indeed,  how  picturesque,"  returned  Wilbraham, 
easily,  who  was  quite  untouched  by  any  menace 
which  Miranda's  words  might  suggest.  Miranda 
looked  across  the  road  towards  a  guardia. 
Wilbraham  lazily  followed  the  direction  of  her 
glance;  for  all  the  emotion  which  he  showed 
blackmail  might  have  been  held  in  Spain  an 
honourable  means  of  livelihood.  Miranda  turned 
back.  "  That  window,"  she  said,  "  is  the  window 
of  the  prison." 

"  The  view,"  remarked  Wilbraham,  "  would 
compensate  in  some  measure  for  the  restriction." 

"  Chains  might  add  to  the  restriction." 

"  Chains  are  unpleasant,"  Wilbraham  heartily 
agreed. 

Miranda  realised  that  she  had  tempted  defeat  in 
this  little  encounter.  She  accepted  it  and  walked 
on. 


vn  MIRANDA    OF    THE    BALCONY  81 

"  You  were  wise  to  come  off  that  barrow,  Mrs. 
Warriner,"  Wilbraham  remarked  in  approval. 

They  crossed  the  bridge  and  entered  the 
Mercadillo,  the  new  Spanish  quarter  of  the  town, 
ascended  the  hill,  and  came  to  the  bull  ring.  Before 
that  Wilbraham  stopped.  "  Why  do  we  go  to  the 
Alameda  ? " 

"  We  can  talk  there  on  neutral  ground." 

"  It  seems  a  long  way." 

"  On  the  other  hand,"  replied  Miranda,  "  the 
Alameda  is  close  to  the  railway  station.  By  the 
bye,  how  did  you  know  where  I  lived  ?  " 

"  There  was  no  difficulty  in  discovering  that.  I 
learnt  at  Gibraltar  that  you  lived  at  Ronda,  and 
the  station-master  here  told  me  where.  When  I 
saw  your  house  I  did  not  wonder  at  your  choice. 
You  were  wise  to  take  a  Moorish  house,  I  fancy  — 
the  patio  with  the  tamarisks  in  the  middle  and  the 
fountain  and  the  red  and  green  tiles  —  very  pleasant, 
I  should  think.  A  door  or  two  stood  open.  The 
rooms  seemed  charming,  low  in  roof,  with  dark 
panels,  of  a  grateful  coolness,  and  so  far  as  I  could 
judge,  with  fine  views." 

"  You  went  into  the  house,  then  ?  "  exclaimed 
Miranda. 

"  Yes,  I  asked  for  you,  and  was  told  that  Miss 
Holt  was  at  home.  I  thought  it  wise  to  go  in  — 
one  never  knows.  So  I  introduced  myself,  but  not 
my  business,  to  Miss  Holt  —  your  cousin,  is  she 
not  ?  A  profound  sentimentalist,  I  should  fancy  ; 
I  noticed  she  was  reading  Henrietta  Temple.  She 
complained  of  being  much  alone  ;  she  nurses  griev- 
ances, no  doubt.     Sentimentalists  have  that  habit 


82  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY        chap. 

—  what  do  you  say  ? "  Miranda  could  have  laughed 
at  the  shrewdness  of  the  man's  perceptions,  had 
she  not  been  aware  that  the  shrewdness  was  a 
weapon  directed  against  her  own  breast. 

They  reached  the  Alameda.  Miranda  led  the 
way  to  a  bench  which  faced  the  railings.  Wilbra- 
ham  looked  quickly  and  suspiciously  at  her,  and 
then  walked  to  the  railings  and  looked  over.  The 
Alameda  is  laid  out  upon  the  very  edge  of  the 
Ronda  plateau,  and  Wilbraham  looked  straight 
down  a  sheer  rock  precipice  of  a  thousand  feet. 
He  remained  in  that  posture  for  some  seconds. 
From  the  foot  of  that  precipice  the  plain  of  the 
Vega  stretched  out  level  as  a  South-sea  lagoon. 
The  gardens  of  a  few  cottages  were  marked  out 
upon  the  green  like  the  squares  of  a  chess-board; 
upon  the  hedges  there  was  here  and  there  the  flut- 
ter of  white  linen.  Orchards  of  apples,  cherries, 
peaches,  and  pears,  enriched  the  plain  with  their 
subdued  colours,  and  the  Guadiaro,  freed  from  the 
confinement  of  its  chasm,  wound  through  it  with 
the  glitter  and  the  curve  of  a  steel  spring.  A  few 
white  Moorish  mills  upon  the  banks  of  the 
stream  were  at  work,  and  the  sound  of  them  came 
droning  through  the  still  heat  up  to  Wilbraham's 
ears. 

Wilbraham,  however,  was  not  occupied  with  the 
scenery,  for  when  he  turned  back  to  Miranda  his 
face  was  dark  and  angry. 

"  Why  did  you  bring  me  to  the  Alameda?"  he 
asked  sternly. 

"  Because  I  will  not  listen  to  you  in  my  own 
house,"  she  answered  with  spirit. 


vn      MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY  83 

Wilbraham  did  not  resent  the  reason,  but  he 
watched  her  warily,  as  though  he  doubted  it. 

"Now,"  said  Miranda,  as  she  stood  before  him. 
"You  tell  me  that  my  husband  is  living.  I  have 
your  bare  word  for  it,  and  out  of  your  lips  you 
have  proved  to  me  that  your  bare  word  has  very 
little  worth." 

"  The  buttons  are  off  the  foils,"  said  he  ;  "very 
well.  In  the  Cathedral  you  corroborated  my  word. 
You  know  that  he  lives  ;   I  know  it." 

"  How  do  you  know  it  ?  " 

"  By  adding  two  and  two  and  making  five,  as 
any  man  with  any  savvy  always  can,"  replied  Wil- 
braham. "  Indeed,  by  adding  two  and  two,  one 
can  even  at  times  make  a  decent  per  annum." 

Mrs.  Warriner  sat  down  upon  the  bench,  and 
Wilbraham,  standing  at  her  side,  presented  the 
following  testimonial  to  his  "  savvy."  First  of  all, 
he  drew  from  one  pocket  four  pounds  of  English 
gold,  and  from  the  other  a  handful  of  dollars  and 
pesetas.  "This  is  what  is  left  of  two  hundred  and 
thirty  pounds,  which  I  won  at  Monte  Carlo  in  the 
beginning  of  May.  There's  a  chance  for  philo- 
sophy, Mrs.  Warriner.  If  I  hadn't  won  that 
money  I  shouldn't  be  standing  here  now  with  my 
livelihood  assured.  For  I  shouldn't  have  been  able 
to  embark  on  the  P.  and  O.  mail  steamer  India  at 
Marseilles,  and  so  I  shouldn't  have  fallen  in  with 
my  dear  young  friend  Charnock." 

Miranda  fairly  started  at  the  mention  of  Char- 
nock's  name  in  connection  with  W7ilbraham's  dis- 
covery. Instantly  Wilbraham  paused.  Miranda 
made  an  effort  to  look  entirely  unconcerned,  but 


84  MIRANDA    OF   THE   BALCONY        chap. 

Wilbraham's  eye  was  upon  her,  and  she  felt  the 
blood  colouring  her  cheeks. 

"  Oho  ! "  said  Wilbraham,  cocking  his  head. 
Then  he  whistled  softly  to  himself  while  he 
looked  her  over  from  head  to  foot.  Miranda 
kept  silence,  and  he  resumed  his  story,  though 
every  time  he  mentioned  Charnock's  name  he 
looked  to  surprise  her  in  some  movement. 

"  Off  Ushant  we  came  up  with  a  brigantine,  and 
I  couldn't  help  fancying  that  her  lines  were  famil- 
iar to  me.     Charnock  lent  me  his  binoculars  — a 
dear  good  fellow,  Charnock  !  — and  I  made  out  her 
name,  the  Tarifa.     I  should  not  have  given  the 
boat  another  thought  but  for  Charnock.      Char- 
nock said  she  had  the  lines  of  a  Salcombe  clipper. 
Did  you  happen  to  know  that  the   Ten  Brothers 
was  a  Salcombe  clipper  ?     I  did,  and  the  moment 
Charnock  had  spoken  I  understood  why  the  look 
of  her  hull  was  familiar;   I   had  seen  her  or  her 
own  legitimate  sister  swinging  at  Warriner's  moor- 
ings in  Algeciras   Bay.      I   did   not  set  any  great 
store  upon  that  small  point,  however,  until  Char- 
nock kindly  informed  me   that  her  owner  could 
have   gained   no   possible    advantage   by   altering 
her    rig    from  a    schooner's    into    a    brigantine's. 
Then  my  interest  began  to  rise,  for  he  had  altered 
the  rig.     Why,  if  the  change  was  to  his  disadvan- 
tage ?     I  can't  say  that  I  had  any  answer  ready;  I 
can't  say  that  I  expected  to  find  an  answer.     But 
since  I  landed  at  Plymouth,  from  which  Salcombe 
is  a  bare  twenty  miles,  I  thought  that  I  might  as 
well  run  over.     One  never  knows  —  such  small 
accidents  mean  everything  for  us — and,  as  a  matter 


vii  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY  85 

of  fact,  I  spent  a  very  pleasant  half-hour  in  the 
back  parlour  of  the  Commercial  Inn,  watching  the 
yachts  at  anchor  and  the  little  sailing  boats  spin- 
ning about  the  river,  and  listening  to  an  old 
skipper,  who  deplored  the  times  when  the  town 
rang  with  the  din  of  hammers  in  shipbuilding 
yards,  and  twelve — observe,  Mrs.  Warriner,  twelve 
—  schooners  brought  to  it  the  prosperity  of  their 
trade.  The  schooners  had  been  sold  off,  but  the 
skipper  had  their  destinies  at  his  fingers'  ends  as 
a  man  follows  the  fortunes  of  his  children.  Two 
had  been  cast  away,  three  were  in  the  Newfound- 
land trade,  one  was  now  a  steam-yacht,  and  the 
others  still  carried  fruit  from  the  West  Indies. 
He  accounted  for  eleven  of  them,  and  the  twelfth, 
of  course,  was  the  Ten  Brothers  wrecked  upon 
Rosevear.  I  eliminated  the  Ten  Brother s>  the 
two  which  had  been  cast  away,  and  the  steam- 
yacht.     Eight  were  left." 

"Yes?"  said  Mrs.  Warriner. 

"  I  went  back  to  Plymouth  and  verified  the 
skipper's  information.  He  had  given  me  the 
owners'  names  and  the  names  of  the  vessels.  I 
looked  them  up  in  the  sailing-lists  and  I  proved 
beyond  a  shadow  of  doubt,  from  their  dates  of 
sailing  and  arrival  at  various  ports,  that  not  one 
of  those  eight  schooners  could  have  been  the 
brigantine  we  passed  off  Ushant.  There  remained, 
then,  the  four  which  I  had  eliminated,  or  rather 
the  three,  for  the  steam-yacht  was  out  of  the 
question.      Do  you   follow  ?  " 

Miranda  made  a  sign  of  assent. 

"  Those  three  boats  had  been  cast  away.     Two 


86  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY  chap. 

of  them  belonged  to  respectable  firms,  the  third  to 
Ralph  Warriner.  It  would  of  course  be  very  con- 
venient for  Ralph  Warriner,  under  the  circum- 
stances, to  be  reputed  dead  and  yet  to  be  alive  with 
a  boat  in  hand,  so  to  speak.  On  the  other  side, 
would  it  profit  either  of  the  two  respectable  firms 
to  spread  a  false  report  that  one  of  their  boats  had 
been  cast  away  ?  Hardly ;  besides,  it  would  of 
course  be  to  Warriner's  advantage,  from  the  point 
of  view  of  concealment,  to  change  the  rig  and 
the  name  of  his  boat.  It  was  all  inference  and 
guess-work,  no  doubt.  Charnock,  for  instance, 
might  have  been  entirely  wrong  ;  the  Tarifa  might 
never  have  been  anything  but  the  Tarifa  and  a 
brigantine  ;  but  the  inference  and  the  guess-work 
all  pointed  the  one  way,  and  I  own  that  my 
interest  was  rapidly  changing  to  excitement.  My 
suspicions  were  strengthened  by  the  behaviour  of 
the  Tarifa  herself.  No  news  of  her  approach  was 
recorded  in  the  papers.  She  didn't  make  any  un- 
necessary noise  about  the  port  she  was  bound  for, 
nor  had  she  the  manners  to  pass  the  time  of  day 
with  any  of  Lloyd's  signal-stations.  The  Tarifa 's 
business  began  to  provoke  my  curiosity.  Here 
was  (shall  we  say  ?)  a  needless  lack  of  ceremony 
to  begin  with.  It  didn't  seem  as  if  the  Tarifa  had 
many  anxious  friends  awaiting  her  arrival.  Besides 
that,  supposing  that  my  suspicions  were  right,  that 
the  Tarifa  was  the  Ten  Brothers  masquerading 
under  another  name,  and  that  perhaps  Ralph 
Warriner  was  on  board,  it  stood  to  reason  Ralph 
Warriner  would  not  risk  his  skin  in  an  English 
port,  without  a  better  reason  than  a  cargo  of  trade. 


vii  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY  87 

Comprenny,  Mrs.  Warriner  ?  I  was  guessing,  con- 
jecturing, inferring ;  I  had  no  knowledge.  So  I 
thought  the  cargo  of  the  Tarifa  was  the  right  end 
of  the  stick  to  hang  on  to.  If  I  could  know  the 
truth  about  that,  I  should  be  in  a  better  position 
to  guess  whether  it  had  anything  to  do  with 
Ralph  Warriner.     Is  that  clear  ?  " 

It  was  clear  enough  to  Miranda,  who  already 
felt  herself  enmeshed  in  the  net  of  this  man's  in- 
genious deductions.     "  Yes,"  she  said. 

"  Very  well.  From  the  brigantine's  course,  she 
was  evidently  making  for  one  of  the  western 
harbours.  I  lay  low  in  Plymouth  for  a  couple  of 
days,  and  read  the  shipping  news.  That  wasn't 
all  I  did  during  those  two  days,  though.  I  went  to 
the  Free  Library  besides,  overhauled  the  file  of  the 
Western  Morning  News  and  assimilated  information 
about  the  inquest  at  St.  Mary's.  The  faceless 
mariner  chucked  up  on  Rosevear  struck  one  as  in- 
teresting. 1  noticed  too  that  there  had  been  a  good 
many  wrecks  in  the  Channel  during  the  heavy 
weather  and  the  fog  just  about  that  time.  But 
before  I  had  come  to  any  conclusion,  I  opened  my 
newspaper  on  the  third  morning  and  read  that  the 
Tarifa  had  dropped  her  anchor  at  Falmouth.  I 
took  the  first  train  out  of  Plymouth,  and  sure 
enough  I  picked  the  Tarifa  up  in  Falmouth  docks. 
Then  I  made  friends  with  the  port-officers,  but  I 
got  never  a  glimpse  of  Ralph  Warriner." 

Miranda's  hopes  revived.  She  knew  very  well 
that  Ralph  Warriner  was  not  at  that  time  in 
Falmouth.  For  the  moment,  however,  she  let 
Wilbraham  run  on. 


88  MIRANDA    OF   THE   BALCONY         chap. 

"  I  frankly  admit  that  my  hopes  sank  a  little," 
he  continued.  "  Of  course  Warriner  might  have 
been  put  ashore ;  but  it  seemed  to  me  impossible 
to  obtain  sufficient  certainty  of  my  suspicions 
unless  I  actually  clapped  eyes  on  him." 

Miranda  agreed,  and  her  prospects  of  escaping 
from  this  man's  clutches  showed  brighter ;  for  she 
was  not  in  a  mood  of  sufficient  calmness  to  enable 
her  to  realise  that  Wilbraham  would  hardly  have 
been  so  frank,  if  he  had  not  by  now  at  all  events 
acquired  absolute  certainty. 

"  My  hopes  were  to  sink  yet  more,"  Wilbraham 
continued.  "  The  brigantine  passed  for  a  tramp 
out  from  Tarifa  with  a  cargo  of  fruit.  I  saw  that 
cargo  unloaded.  There  was  no  pretence  about  it ; 
it  was  a  full  cargo  of  fruit.  The  boat  was  sailing 
back  to  Tarifa  with  a  cargo  of  alkali,  and  I  saw 
that  cargo  stowed  away  in  her  hold.  Mrs. 
Warriner,  my  spirits  began  to  revive.  That  cargo 
of  alkali  was  most  uncommon  small ;  the  profit  on 
it  wouldn't  have  paid  the  decky's  wages.  Again  I 
inferred.  I  inferred  that  the  alkali  was  a  blind, 
and  that  the  Tarifa  meant  to  pick  up  a  cargo  of 
another  sort  somewhere  along  the  coast,  though 
what  the  cargo  would  be  I  could  not  for  the  life 
of  me  imagine." 

"  But  it  is  all  guess-work,"  said  Miranda,  with 
an  indifference  which  she  was  far  from  feeling. 

"  I  learned  one  piece  of  solid  cheering  informa- 
tion from  my  friends  the  port-officers,"  retorted 
Wilbraham.  "The  Tarifa  s  papers  were  all  quite 
recent,  and  yet  she  was  an  old  boat.  She  was 
supposed  to  be  owned  by  her  master." 


vii  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY  89 

"And  no  doubt  was,"  added  Miranda,  with  an 
assumption  of  weariness. 

"  It  appeared  that  her  saloon  had  caught  fire; 
the  saloon  had  been  gutted  and  the  Tarifas  papers 
destroyed  a  year  before,"  Wilbraham  resumed, 
untroubled  by  Mrs.  Warriner's  objections.  "  A 
pretty  careless  captain  that,  eh  ?  A  most  un- 
common careless  captain,  Mrs.  Warriner  ?  For  a 
boat  to  lose  her  papers  —  well,  its  pretty  much 
the  same  as  when  a  girl  loses  her  marriage  lines 
in  the  melodramas.  A  most  uncommon  careless 
captain  !  Or  a  most  astute  one,  you  say.  What  ? 
Well,  I'll  not  deny  but  what  you  may  be  right. 
For  that  brigantine  caught  fire  and  burned  her 
papers  just  about  the  date  when  the  Ten  Brothers 
went  ashore  on  Rosevear.  How's  that  for  the 
long  arm  ?  " 

"  But  you  did  not  see  my  husband,"  said 
Miranda,  stubbornly. 

"And why? "asked  Wilbraham,  andanswered  his 
question.  "  Becauseyourhusbandwasn't  onboard." 

"  Then  the  whole  story  falls  to  the  ground," 
exclaimed  Miranda,  as  she  rose  from  her  seat. 

"  Wait  a  bit,  Mrs.  Warriner,"  said  Wilbraham, 
and  he  sat  down  on  the  seat  and  nursed  his  leg. 
"The  Tarifa  was  supposed  to  belong  to  her  master, 
who  went  by  the  name  of  John  Wilson.  Now 
here's  a  funny  thing.  I  never  saw  John  Wilson, 
though  I  prowled  about  the  docks  enough.  The 
port-officers  described  him  to  me,  a  grizzled  sea- 
faring man  of  fifty  ;  but  he  was  always  snug  in 
his  cabin,  and  a  mate  did  the  show  business  with 
the  cargo.     I  grew  curious  about  John  Wilson  ;  I 


go  MIRANDA    OF    THE    BALCONY  chap. 

wanted  to  see  John  Wilson.  Accordingly  I  located 
the  chart-room  from  the  wharf,  then  I  put  on  a 
black  thumb  tie  and  a  dirty  collar  so  as  to  look 
like  a  clerk,  and  I  walked  boldly  down  the  gang- 
way and  stepped  across  the  deck.  I  chose  my 
time,  you  understand.  I  knocked  at  the  chart- 
room  door.  '  Come  in,'  said  a  voice,  and  in  I 
walked.  Mrs.  Warriner,  you  could  have  knocked 
me  down  with  that  dainty  parasol  of  yours  if  you 
had  been  present  when  I  first  saw  John  Wilson. 

" '  What  do  you  want  ? '  says  he,  short  and 
sharp. 

"  '  Will  you  take  a  load  of  cotton  to  Valencia  ? ' 
says  I,  and  I  quoted  an  insignificant  price. 

" '  I  am  not  such  a  fool  as  you  look,'  said  he, 
and  out  I  went  and  shook  hands  with  myself  on 
the  quay.      For  John  Wilson  —  " 

"  Was  not  my  husband,"  exclaimed  Miranda, 
with  almost  a  despairing  violence.  "  He  was  not ! 
He  was  not !  " 

"  You  are  right,  Mrs.  Warriner,  he  was  not. 
But  he  was  a  man  whom  you  and  I  knew  as 
Thomas  Discipline,  first  mate  of  the  schooner- 
yacht  the  Ten  Brothers,  of  which  Captain  Ralph 
Warriner  was  the  certificated  master.  And  ob- 
serve, please,  the  whole  crew  of  the  Ten  Brothers 
was  reported  lost  upon  Rosevear." 

"  Thomas  Discipline  might  have  left  the  Ten 
Brothers  before,"  argued  Miranda.  "  His  pres- 
ence on  the  Tarifa  does  not  connect  my  husband 
with  that  boat." 

"  That's  precisely  the  objection  which  occurred 
to  me,"  said  Wilbraham,  coolly.     "  But  here  was 


vii  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY  91 

at  last  a  fact  which  fitted  in  with  my  guess-work, 
and  I  own  to  being  uplifted.  That  evening  I  got 
the  ticket  that  the  Tarifa  was  to  put  to  sea  the 
next  day,  and  sure  enough  in  the  morning  she 
swung  out  into  the  fairway  and  waited  for  the 
evening  ebb.  I  passed  that  day  in  an  altogether 
unenviable  state  of  anxiety,  Mrs.  Warriner ;  for 
if  by  any  chance  I  was  wrong,  if  she  did  not  mean 
to  take  up  another  cargo  of  a  more  profitable  kind 
by  dark,  if  she  were  to  sail  clean  away  for  Ushant 
on  the  evening  ebb,  why,  the  boat  might  be  the 
Ten  Brothers  or  it  might  not,  and  the  master 
might  be  the  late  Captain  Warriner  or  he  might 
not.  Any  way  the  bottom  fell  clean  out  of  my 
little  business.  But  she  did  not ;  she  got  her 
anchors  in  about  eight  o'clock  and  reached  out 
towards  the  Lizard  in  the  dusk  with  a  light  wind 
from  the  land  on  her  beam." 

"  The  story  so  far,"  Miranda  interrupted, 
"seems  nautical,  but  hardly  to  the  point." 

"Think  so?'  said  Wilbraham,  indirTerentlv. 
"  Did  I  mention  that  at  the  mouth  of  the  harbour 
the  Tarifa  passed  a  steam  launch  pottering  around 
the  St.  Anthony  Light  ?  Between  you  and  me, 
Mrs.  Warriner,  I  was  holding  the  tiller  of  that 
steam  launch." 

"  You  !  "  she  exclaimed. 

"Just  poor  little  me,"  said  he,  smiling  politely, 
"with  a  few  paltry  thick-uns  in  my  pocket  to 
speculate  in  the  hire  of  a  steam  launch.  I  gave 
the  Tarifa  a  start  and  followed,  keeping  well  away 
on  her  lee  with  her  red  light  just  in  view.  That 
first  half-hour  or  so  was  a  wearing  time  for  me, 


92  MIRANDA    OF   THE   BALCONY         chap. 

Mrs.  Warriner,  I  assure  you,"  and  he  took  off  his 
hat  and  wiped  his  forehead,  as  though  the  anxiety 
came  back  upon  him  now.  He  laboured  his 
breath  and  broke  up  his  sentences  with  short 
nervous  laughter.  He  seemed  entirely  to  forget 
his  companion,  and  the  sun,  and  the  Andalusian 
sierras  across  the  plain  ;  he  was  desperately  hunt- 
ing the  Tarifa  along  the  Spit  to  the  Lizard  point. 
"I  was  certain  of  one  thing:  that  no  Captain 
Warriner  had  come  aboard  at  Falmouth.  So  if 
the  Tarifa  kept  out  to  sea,  why,  there  was  no  Cap- 
tain Warriner  to  come  aboard,  and  here  was  I 
spending  my  last  pounds  in  running  down  a  will- 
o'-the-wisp,  and  the  world  to  face  again  to-morrow 
in  the  grim  old  way,  without  a  penny  to  my  purse. 
On  the  other  hand,  if  there  was  a  Captain 
Warriner,  he  would  come  aboard  with  the  cargo 
somewhere  that  night,  and  I  fancied  I  could  lay 
my  finger  on  that  somewhere.  I  had  another 
cause  for  anxiety.  Grant  my  guess-work  correct, 
and  the  last  thing  the  Tarifa  was  likely  to  hanker 
after  would  be  a  wasp  of  a  steam  launch  buzzing 
in  her  wake.  The  evening  was  hazy,  by  a  stroke 
of  luck,  but  the  wind  was  light  and  the  sea  smooth, 
and  my  propeller  throbbed  out  over  the  water 
until  I  thought  it  must  reverberate  across  the  world, 
and  the  Esquimaux  on  Franz  Josef  Land  and  the 
Kanaka  in  the  Pacific  would  hear  it  plain  as  the 
pulsing  of  a  battleship.  However,  I  slowed  the 
launch  down  to  less  than  half-speed,  and  the  crew 
of  the  Tarifa  made  no  account  of  me.  The 
brigantine  was  doing  only  a  leisurely  five  knots  — 
she    was    waiting    for    the    dark,    I    conjectured. 


vn      MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY  93 

Conjectured  ?  I  came  near  to  praying  it.  And  as 
if  in  answer  to  my  prayer  —  it  sounds  pretty  much 
like  blasphemy  now,  doesn't  it?  —  but  at  that 
moment  I  believed  it  —  all  at  once  her  red  light 
vanished  and  my  heart  went  jumping  in  the  inside 
of  me  as  though  it  had  slipped  its  moorings.  For 
the  Tarifa  had  changed  her  course  ;  she  was  point- 
ing closer  to  the  wind  and  the  wind  came  offshore  ; 
she  was  showing  me  her  stern  instead  of  her  port 
beam ;  on  the  course  she  was  lying  now  she 
couldn't  clear  the  Manacles  —  not  by  any  manner 
of  means.  She  was  heading  for  the  anchorage  I 
hoped  she  would ;  she  was  standing  in  towards 
Helford  river.  In  a  little  she  went  about,  and 
seeing  her  green  light,  I  slowed  down  again.  I 
could  afford  to  take  it  easy." 

He  drew  a  breath  of  relief  and  lolled  back  upon 
his  seat.  Miranda  no  longer  put  questions  ;  there 
was  a  look  of  discouragement  upon  her  face  ;  she 
began  bitterly  to  feel  herself  helpless  in  this  man's 
hands,  as  clay  under  the  potter's  thumb. 

"  Do  you  know  the  creek  ? '  he  asked,  and  did 
not  wait  for  an  answer.  "  I  hadn't  anchored  there 
for  twenty  years,  but  I  had  a  chart  of  it  in  my 
memories."  His  voice  softened,  with  perhaps 
some  recollection  of  a  yachting  trip  in  the  days  be- 
fore his  life  had  grown  sour.  "  Steep  hills  on  each 
side,  and  on  each  side  woods.  The  trees  run  down 
and  thrust  their  knees  into  the  water  like  animals 
at  their  watering  places  of  an  evening.  A  mile  or 
so  up,  a  little  rose  and  honeysuckle  village  nestles 
as  pretty  as  a  poem.  There's  a  noise  of  birds  all 
day,  and  all  night  and  day  the  trees  talk.      Given 


94  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY        chap. 

a  westerly  wind,  and  the  summer,  I  don't  know 
many  places  which  come  up  to  Helford  river,"  and 
his  voice  ceased,  and  he  sat  in  a  muse.  A  move- 
ment at  his  side  recalled  him.  "  But  that's  not 
business,  you  say,"  he  resumed  briskly.  "  I  left 
the  Tarifa  at  the  mouth  of  the  creek.  The  little 
village  a  mile  or  more  up  is  on  the  southward 
side ;  opposite  to  it,  on  the  Falmouth  side,  is  the 
coast-guard  station  ;  nearer  to  the  mouth,  and  still 
on  the  Falmouth  side,  a  tiny  dingle  shelters  a 
school-house  and  half-a-dozen  cottages,  and  still 
nearer,  the  road  from  Falmouth  comes  over  the 
brow  of  the  hill  and  dips  down  along  the  hill-side. 
At  one  point  the  steep  hill-side  is  broken,  there's 
an  easy  incline  of  sand  and  bushes  and  soil  between 
the  water  and  the  road.  The  incline  is  out  of  sight 
of  the  coast-guard.  Besides,  it  is  only  just  round 
the  point  and  close  to  the  sea.  And  for  that  reason 
I  was  in  no  particular  hurry  to  follow  the  Tarifa. 
I  edged  the  launch  close  in  under  the  point,  waded 
ashore,  and  scrambled  along  in  the  dark  until  I 
reached  the  break  in  the  hill-side.  Then  I  lay 
down  among  the  bushes  and  waited.  All  lights 
were  out  on  the  Tarifa,  but  I  could  see  her  hull 
dimly,  a  blot  of  solid  black  against  the  night's  un- 
substantial blackness.  I  waited  for  centuries  and 
seons.  There  was  neither  moon  nor  any  star.  At 
last  I  heard  a  creaking  sound  that  came  from  the 
other  end  of  the  world.  It  was  repeated,  it  grew 
louder,  it  became  many  sounds,  the  sounds  of  cart 
wheels  on  the  dry  road.  I  looked  at  my  watch  ; 
the  glimmer  of  its  white  face  made  it  possible 
for  me  to  tell  the  hour.        It  was  five    minutes 


vii  MIRANDA    OF    THE    BALCONY  95 

to  eleven.  For  five  minutes  the  sounds  drew 
infinitesimally  nearer.  Higher  up  the  creek  six 
bells  were  struck  upon  a  yacht,  and  then  over 
the  waters  from  the  direction  of  the  Tarifa  came 
cautiously  the  wooden  rattle  of  oars  in  the  row- 
locks of  a  boat.  A  boat,  I  say,  but  it  was  followed 
by  another  and  another.  The  three  boats  grounded 
on  the  sand  as  the  carts  reached  the  break  in  the 
hill-side.  There  were  few  words  spoken,  and  no 
light  shown.  I  lay  in  the  bushes  straining  my 
ears  to  catch  a  familiar  voice,  my  eyes  on  the 
chance  that  a  match  might  be  struck  and  light  up 
a  familiar  face." 

"  Well  ?  "  said  Miranda,  breaking  in  upon  his 
speech.  She  was  strung  to  a  high  pitch  of  excite- 
ment, and  her  face  and  voice  betrayed  it. 

"  I  was  disappointed,"  replied  Wilbraham,  "  but 
I  saw  something  of  the  cargo  which  the  waggons 
brought  over  the  hill  and  the  boats  carried  on 
board.  Backwards  and  forwards  between  the 
Tarifa  and  the  shore  they  were  rowed  with  un- 
remitting diligence  and  caution,  carrying  first 
longish  packing-cases  of  some  weight,  as  I  could 
gather  from  the  conduct  of  the  men  who  stumbled 
with  them  down  the  incline.  And  after  the  pack- 
ing-cases, square  boxes,  yet  more  unwieldy  than 
the  long  cases,  if  one  takes  the  proportion  of  size. 
The  morning  was  breaking  before  the  last  boat  was 
hoisted  on  board,  and  the  last  waggon  had  creaked 
out  of  hearing  over  the  hill." 

"  And  what  was  the  cargo  ?  "  asked  Miranda. 

"  That  was  the  question  which  troubled  me," 
replied  Wilbraham.     "  I  lay  on  the  hill-side  in  the 


96  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY        chap. 

chill  of  the  morning  as  disheartened  a  man  as  you 
can  imagine.  Through  a  break  in  the  bushes  I 
watched  the  Tarifa  below  me,  her  decks  busy  with 
the  movement  of  her  crew  and  from  her  galley  the 
comfortable  smoke  coiling  up  into  the  air.  Break- 
fast !  A  Gargantuan  appetite  suddenly  pinched 
my  stomach.  Had  Warriner  gone  on  board  with 
the  cargo  ?  And  what  was  the  cargo  ?  And  into 
what  harbour  would  the  Tarifa  carry  it  ?  I  had 
found  out  nothing.  Then  on  board  the  brigantine- 
men  gathered  at  the  windlass,  a  chain  clinked 
musically  as  the  anchor  was  hove  short,  the  gaff  of 
her  mainsail  creaked  up  the  mast,  and  the  festoons 
of  her  canvas  were  unfolded.  The  Tarifa  was 
outward  bound  and  I  had  discovered  nothing.  I 
was  like  a  man  tied  hand  and  foot  and  a  treasure 
within  his  reach.  I  had  had  my  ringers  on  the 
treasure.  Again  the  chain  rattled  on  the  windlass  ; 
she  broke  out  her  foresail  and  her  jib ;  I  saw  the 
water  sparkle  under  her  foot  and  stream  out  a 
creaming  pennant  in  her  wake.  I  had  lost.  In 
the  space  of  a  second  I  lived  through  every  minute 
of  my  last  fifteen  years  and  their  dreary  vicissi- 
tudes. I  lived  in  anticipation  through  another 
fifteen  similar  in  every  detail,  and  fairly  shuddered 
to  think  there  might  be  another  fifteen  still  to 
follow  those.  I  stretched  myself  out  and  ground 
my  face  in  the  sand  and  cursed  God  with  all  my 
heart  for  the  difference  between  man  and  man. 
And  meanwhile  the  Tarifa,  with  a  hint  of  the  sun 
upon  her  topsails,  slipped  out  over  the  tide  to 
sea. 

Wilbraham's  face  was  quite  convulsed  by  the 


vii  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY  97 

violence  of  his  recollections ;  and  with  so  vivid  a 
sincerity,  with  a  voice  so  mutable,  had  he  described 
the  growth  and  extinction  of  his  hopes,  that 
Miranda  almost  forgot  their  object,  almost  found 
herself  sympathising  with  his  endeavours,  almost 
regretted  their  failure  —  until  she  remembered  that 
after  all  he  had  not  failed,  or  he  would  not  have 
been  sitting  beside  her  in  the  Alameda. 

"  Well,"  she  said  in  a  hard  voice,  "  you  failed. 
What  then  ?  " 

"  I  crawled  down  to  my  launch,  the  cheapest 
man  in  the  United  Kingdom.  My  engineer  was 
muffled  up  in  a  pilot  jacket  and  uncommon  surly 
and  cheap  too.  I  hadn't  the  pluck  left  in  me  to 
resent  his  impudence,  and  we  crept  back  to 
Falmouth.  All  the  way  I  was  pestered  with  that 
question,  '  What  was  the  cargo  I  had  seen  shipped 
that  night  in  Helford  river  ? '  I  couldn't  get  it 
out  of  my  head.  The  propeller  lashed  it  out  with 
a  sort  of  vindictiveness.  The  little  waves  breaking 
ashore  whispered  about  it,  as  though  they  knew 
very  well,  but  wouldn't  peach.  When  I  had 
landed  in  Falmouth,  I  found  that  I  was  walking 
towards  the  Free  Library.  The  doors,  however, 
were  still  closed.  I  breakfasted  in  a  fever  of 
impatience  and  was  back  again  at  the  doors  before 
they  were  opened.  You  may  take  it  from  me, 
Mrs.  Warriner,  I  was  the  first  student  inside  the 
building  that  morning.  I  read  over  again  every 
scrap  of  news  and  comment  about  the  inquest  in 
Scilly  which  I  could  pester  the  Librarian  to  un- 
earth ;  and  points  which  in  my  hurry  I  had  over- 
looked before,  began  to  take  an  air  of  importance. 


98  MIRANDA    OF    THE    BALCONY  chap. 

The  old  man  Fournier,  for  instance  ;  it  seemed 
sort  of  queer  that  a  taxidermist  of  Tangier  should 
come  all  the  way  to  Scilly  for  a  month's  holiday. 
Eh,  what  ?  What  was  old  man  Fournier  doing  at 
Scilly  ?  Scilly's  a  likely  place  for  wrecks.  Was 
old  man  Fournier  a  hanger-on  upon  chance,  a 
nautical  Mr.  Micawber  waiting  for  a  wreck  to  turn 
up  which  would  suit  his  purpose  ?  Or  had  he 
stage-managed  by  some  means  or  other  the  coup  de 
theatre  on  Rosevear  ?  It  seemed  funny  that  the 
short-sighted  man  should  spot  the  wreck  on  Rose- 
vear before  the  St.  Agnes  men,  eh  ?  Suppose  M. 
Fournier  and  Ralph  Warriner  were  partners  in 
that  pretty  cargo  !  I  walked  straight  out  of  that 
library,  feeling  quite  certain  that  I  held  the  right 
end  of  the  skein.  I  had  made  a  mistake  in  follow- 
ing up  Warriner.  I  ought  to  have  followed  up 
the  taxidermist.  I  walked  about  Falmouth  all  that 
day  puzzling  the  business  out;  and  I  came  to  the 
conclusion  that  the  sooner  I  crossed  to  the  Scillies 
the  better.  I  was  by  this  time  fairly  excited,  and 
I  think  I  should  have  spent  my  last  farthing  in  the 
hunt  even  if  I  had  known  that  when  I  had  run  the 
mystery  to  earth,  it  would  not  profit  me  at  all.  I 
took  a  train  that  very  evening,  and  pottered  about 
from  station  to  station  all  night.  In  the  morning 
I  got  to  Penzance,  and  kicked  my  heels  on  the 
wharf  of  the  little  dock  there  until  nine  o'clock, 
when  the  Lyonnesse  started  for  St.  Mary's.  Three 
hours  later  I  saw  the  islands  hump  themselves  up 
from  the  sea,  and  I  stared  and  stared  at  them  till  a 
genial  being  standing  beside  me  said,  c  I  suppose 
vou  haven't  been  home  for  a  good  many  years.'  — 


vii  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY 


99 


By  the  way,  Mrs.  Warriner,"  he  suddenly  broke 
off,  "  I  have  heard  that  natural  sherry  is  a  drink 
in  some  favour  hereabouts.  I  can't  say  that  it's  a 
beverage  I  have  ever  hankered  after  before,  but 
what  with  the  sun  and  the  talk,  the  thought  of  it 
is  at  the  present  moment  most  seductive.  What 
if  we  rang  down  the  curtain  for  ten  minutes  and 
had  an  entr'acte,  eh  ?  Would  you  mind  ?  "  And 
Wilbraham  rose  from  his  seat. 

"  No,"  said  Miranda.  "  Please  finish  what  you 
have  to  say  now." 

Wilbraham  sighed,  resumed  his  seat  and  at  the 
same  time  his  story. 


CHAPTER   VIII 

EXPLAINS      THE      MYSTERY      OF      THE     "  TARIFa's  " 

CARGO 

"  At  St.  Mary's,"  he  continued,  "  I  called  at  once 
upon  the  doctor.    'Ah,'  said  he, '  liver,  I  suppose.' 

"  '  Permanently  enlarged  by  excessive  indulgence 
in  alcohol,'  said  I.  '  I  had  once  a  very  dear  friend 
in  the  same  case  called  Ralph  Warriner.'  " 

Here  Miranda  interrupted  with  considerable  in- 
dignation.   "  There  is  not  a  word  of  truth  in  that." 

"There  is  not,"  Wilbraham  agreed  pleasantly; 
"  but  I  had  to  introduce  the  subject  some  way,  and 
my  way  was  successful.  '  Ralph  Warriner  ! '  ex- 
claimed the  doctor.  'And  what  was  he  dismissed 
the  service  for  ? '  I  winked  very  slowly,  with  in- 
tense cunning  ;  '  I  understand,'  said  the  doctor, 
with  a  leer,  though  Heaven  only  knows  what  he 
did  understand  ;  I  fancy  he  thought  his  reputation 
as  a  man  of  the  world  was  at  stake.  After  that 
the  conversation  went  on  swimmingly. 

"  I  was  more  than  ever  convinced  that  the  dis- 
covery on  Rosevear  was  a  put-up  job.  If  so,  old 
man  Fournier  must  have  been  aware  of  that  wreck 
before  he  discovered  it.  He  must  have  landed  on 
the  island  and  shoved  those  papers  into  the  dead 


IOO 


chap,  vin    MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY  101 

man's  pocket;  and  someone  must  have  sailed  him 
out  to  the  island.  I  determined  to  lay  myself  out 
to  discover  who  that  someone  was  ;  but  I  went  no 
farther  than  the  determination.  There  was  not 
indeedany  need  that  I  should,for  I  sailed  myself  the 
next  day  to  Rosevear.  I  hired  the  St.  Agnes  lugger, 
and  Zebedee  Isaacs,  as  he  sat  at  the  tiller,  gave  me 
news  of  old  man  Fournier.  Old  man  Fournier 
was  a  desperate  coward  on  the  sea,  yet  he  had  put 
out  to  the  Bishop  on  a  most  unpleasing  day.  It 
was  old  man  Fournier  who  insisted  that  they 
should  run  through  the  Neck  and  examine  Rose- 
vear, and  when  Zebedee  Isaacs  declined  the  risk, 
old  man  Fournier  flung  himself  in  a  passion  on 
the  tiller  and  nearly  swamped  the  boat.  All  very 
queer,  eh  ?  M.  Fournier  must  have  had  some 
fairly  strong  motive  to  nerve  him  to  that  pitch  of 
audacity.  And  what  that  motive  was  I  should  dis- 
cover when  I  discovered  the  nature  of  the  Tarifas 
cargo.  I  thought  perpetually  about  that  cargo,  all 
the  way  to  Rosevear,  and  after  I  had  landed  on 
that  melancholy  island.  The  truth  came  upon  me 
in  a  moment  of  inspiration.  The  ground  I  re- 
member gave  way  under  my  foot.  I  had  trodden 
on  a  sea-bird's  nest  and  stumbled  forward  on  my 
knees,  and  with  the  shock  of  the  stumble  came  the 
inspiration.  I  remained  on  my  knees,  with  the 
gulls  screaming  overhead,  and  the  grey  wastes  of 
ocean  moaning  about  the  unkindly  rocks.  And  I 
knew!  The  taxidermist  from  Tangier,  the  longish 
packing-cases,  the  square  boxes  —  Ralph  Warriner 
and  old  man  Fournier  were  running  guns  and 
ammunition  into  Morocco  !  " 


102  MIRANDA    OF    THE    BALCONY  chap. 

Miranda  could  not  repress  an  exclamation.  She 
had  no  doubt  that  Wilbraham  was  right ;  the 
theory  fitted  in  with  Ralph's  adventurous  char- 
acter. M.  Fournier  no  doubt  made  the  arrange- 
ments, and  provided  the  capital ;  Ralph  worked 
the  cargo  across  from  England  to  Morocco. 
And  to  make  it  safe  for  himself  to  venture  upon 
English  soil,  he  had  altered  the  rig  of  the  Tarifa 
in  some  unfrequented  port,  and  somehow  arranged 
the  deception  concerning  his  death. 

"  You  think  as  I  thought  in  Rosevear,"  said 
Wilbraham,  looking  shrewdly  into  her  face.  "  I 
only  wish  you  could  participate  in  the  delight  I 
felt.  I  had  my  fingers  on  the  secret  now,  and  it 
was  such  a  perfect,  profitable  secret,  for,  quite 
apart  from  the  other  affair,  gun-running  in 
Morocco  is  itself  an  offence  against  the  law.  I 
fairly  hugged  myself.  'Ambrose,'  said  I,  'never 
in  all  your  pufF  have  you  struck  anything  like  this. 
Fouche  you  shall  trample  under  foot  and  Sherlock 
Holmes  shall  be  your  washpot ;  you  are  the  best 
in  the  world.  The  faceless  mariner  was  a  fraud,  a 
freak  from  Barnum's.  Here  at  last  is  Eldorado, 
and  there's  no  fly  anywhere  upon  the  gilding.' 
Thus,  Mrs.  Warriner,  I  soliloquised,  and  took  the 
next  boat  back  to  Penzance ;  from  Penzance  I 
travelled  by  train  to  Plymouth  ;  from  Plymouth 
I  sailed  in  an  Orient  boat  to  Gib,  and  from  Gib  I 
crossed  to  Tangier,  where  I  had  a  few  minutes' 
conversation  with  one  or  two  officers  of  the  cus- 
tom-house. 

"  Morocco  as  a  social  institution  has  many 
points  of  convenience  which  it  is  useful  for  men 


viii  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY  103 

like  Warriner  and  myself  to  know.  Here's  a 
small  case  in  point.  If  you  wish  to  smuggle  for- 
bidden goods  into  the  country,  you  hire  the 
custom-house  officials  to  unload  your  cargo  for 
you  at  night  somewhere  on  the  beach.  Thus  you 
avoid  much  trouble,  all  chance  of  detection  and 
you  secure  skilled  workmen.  I  had  no  doubt  that 
Warriner  had  followed  this  course.  So  I  hired  the 
custom-house  officials  to  tell  me  the  truth,  and 
out  it  came.  The  Tarifa  had  landed  its  cargo  in 
the  bay  a  mile  and  a  half  from  Tangier  a  couple 
of  days  before  I  arrived,  and  M.  Fournier  had 
supervised  the  unloading,  and  the  captain  of  the 
Tarifa  was  no  longer  the  grizzled  sea-dog,  Mr. 
Thomas  Discipline,  but  a  gentleman  of  a  slight 
figure,  blue  eyes,  and  fair  hair.  That  middle- 
aged  cherub,  in  a  word,  with  whom  you  and  I  are 
both  familiar,  and  who  now  calls  himself  Mr. 
Jeremy  Bentham.  When  I  had  derived  this  infor- 
mation I  walked  into  M.  Fournier's  shop  and 
bought  a  stuffed  jackal.  There  was  a  tourist 
making  purchases,  so  I  asked  my  question  quietly 
as  I  leaned  my  elbows  on  the  counter. 

"  *  How  did  you  work  the  situation  on  Rose- 
vear  ?  '  said  I,  'and  how's  my  sweet  friend,  Ralph 
Warriner  ? ' 

"The  little  Frenchman  turned  white  and  sick. 
He  babbled  expostulations  and  denials.  He  de- 
manded my  name  —  " 

"  You  gave  him  your  card,  I  hope,"  interrupted 
Miranda,  biting  her  lip.  Wilbraham  gazed  at 
her  with  admiration.  "  Well,  you  have  got  some 
spirit.     I  will  say  that  for  you,  Mrs.  Warriner." 


104  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY         chap. 

"I  am  not  in  need  of  testimonials,"  said 
Miranda.     "  What  of  M.  Fournier  ?  " 

"  He  talked  to  me  mysteries  after  that.  '  You 
were  in  Tangier  a  month  ago,'  said  he.  c  You 
shouted  "  Look  out !  "  through  the  door ;  you 
startled  a  friend  of  mine ;  you  are  a  coward.' 
Would  you  believe  it,  the  little  worm  turned  ? 
He  flew  into  a  violent  passion;  I  suppose  it  was 
in  just  such  a  passion  that  he  flung  himself  on 
Zebedee  Isaacs  at  Scilly.  A  plucky  little  man  for 
all  his  cowardice  !  He  called  me  a  number  of  ill 
names.  However,  I  had  got  what  I  wanted.  I 
crossed  back  to  Gibraltar,  and  here  I  am." 

Wilbraham  crossed  his  legs,  and  with  a  polite 
"  You  will  permit  me  ?  "  lighted  a  cigarette. 

"  I  see,"  said  Miranda,  with  a  contemptuous 
droop  of  her  lips.  "  Having  failed  to  blackmail 
M.  Fournier  and  my  husband,  you  fall  back  upon 
blackmailing  a  woman." 

Wilbraham's  answer  to  the  sneer  was  entirely 
unexpected,  even  by  Miranda,  who  was  prepared 
for  the  unexpected  in  this  man.  He  showed  no 
shame ;  he  did  not  try  to  laugh  away  the  slur ; 
but  removing  his  cigarette  from  his  mouth,  he 
turned  deliberately  his  full  face  to  her  and  in  a 
deliberate  voice  said :  "  I  do  not  take  the  con- 
ventional view  upon  these  matters.  And,  all 
other  things  being  equal,  had  I  to  choose  between 
a  man  and  a  woman,  I  should  spare  the  man  and 
strike  the  woman." 

He  spoke  without  any  bitterness,  but  in  a 
hard,  calm  voice,  as  though  he  had  sounded  the 
question   to  the   bottom.      Miranda    gasped,   the 


vra  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY  105 

words  for  a  second  took  her  breath  away,  and 
then  the  blood  came  warmly  into  her  cheeks,  and 
her  eyes  softened  and  brightened  and  she  smiled. 
A  sudden  glory  seemed  to  illuminate  her  face. 
Wilbraham  wondered  why.  He  could  not  know 
that  the  brutal  shock  of  his  speech  had  sent  her 
thoughts  winging  back  to  a  balcony  overlooking 
St.  James's  Park,  where  a  man  had  held  a  torn 
glove  in  his  hand  and  in  a  no  less  decided  voice 
than  Wilbraham's  had  spoken  quite  other  words. 

"  I  never  intended  to  address  either  Fournier  or 
your  husband  upon  the  subject  of —  shall  we  call  it 
compensation  ?  At  the  best  I  should  have  got  a 
lump  sum  now  and  again  from  them,  and  as  I  say, 
I  have  learnt  my  lesson.  If  I  had  a  lump  sum,  it 
would  be  spent,  and  I  should  again  be  penniless. 
I  apply  to  you  because  I  propose  a  regular  sum 
per  annum  paid  quarterly  in  advance." 

Miranda  was  still  uplifted  by  the  contrast 
between  her  recollections  and  Wilbraham's  words. 
She  had  the  glove  at  home  locked  up,  an  evidence 
that  succour  was  very  near  —  a  hundred  miles  only 
down  the  winding  valley  which  faced  her  —  and  she 
had  not  even  to  say  a  word  in  order  to  command 
it.  When  she  spoke  again  to  Wilbraham  she 
spoke  emboldened  by  this  knowledge. 

"  And  what  if  I  were  to  refuse  you  even  a 
shilling  for  your  dinner?  " 

"  I  should  be  compelled  to  lay  my  information 
before  the  proper  authorities,  that  Ralph  Warriner 
is  alive  and  may  at  times  be  captured  in  Eng- 
land." 

"  Would  you   be  surprised   to   hear  that    Mr. 


106  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY         chap. 

Warriner  committed  no  crime  for  which  he  could 
be  captured  ? " 

"  I  should  be  surprised  beyond  words.  Mr. 
Warriner  sold  the  mechanism  of  the  Daventry  gun 
to  a  foreign  government." 

"  Are  you  so  sure  of  that  ? ' 

"  I  was  his  agent." 

"  You  !     Then  you  are  also  his  accomplice." 

"  True, — and  I  look  forward  to  turning  Queen's 
evidence." 

Miranda  withdrew  from  the  contest.  The  dis- 
cussion was  hardly  more  than  academic,  for  she 
knew  both  that  her  husband  was  alive  and  that 
this  particular  crime  he  had  committed. 

"  What  is  your  price  ? "  she  asked,  and  she  sat 
down  upon  the  bench. 

Wilbraham  did  not  immediately  reply.  He 
took  a  pocket-book  from  his  coat  and  a  letter 
from  the  pocket-book. 

"  I  should  wish  you  fully  to  understand  the 
strength  of  my  position,"  he  said.  "  This  letter 
you  will  see  is  in  your  husband's  handwriting.  This 
passage,"  and  he  folded  the  letter  to  show  Miranda 
a  line  or  two,  "  enjoins  me  to  be  very  careful  about 
the  plans.  The  gun  is  not  mentioned  by  name, 
but  the  date  of  the  letter  and  the  context  leave  no 
possible  doubt." 

He  fluttered  the  letter  under  Miranda's  eyes 
and  within  reach  of  her  fingers. 

"  It  is  my  one  piece  of  evidence,  but  a  convincing 
piece." 

He  made  a  pretence  of  dropping  it  at  her  feet 
and  snatched  it  up  quickly.     Then  he  replaced  it 


vin  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY  107 

in  his  pocket-book  and  shut  up  his  pocket-book 
with  a  snap. 

"  Why  didn't  you  snatch  at  it? "  he  exclaimed 
with  irritation. 

"  Why  did  you  wish  me  to  snatch  at  it  ? "  she 
replied. 

"  Because — because,"  he  said  angrily,  "you  have 
made  me  feel  real  mean,  as  mean  as  a  man  in  the 
commission  of  his  first  dishonourable  act  towards 
a  woman,  and  I  wanted  you  to  look  mean  at  all 
events  ;  it  would  have  made  my  business  easier  to 
handle.  Well,  let's  have  done  with  it.  I  know 
Ralph  Warriner  is  alive.  I  can  give  information 
which  may  lead  to  his  capture  ;  and  there's  always 
the  disgrace  to  publish." 

He  blurted  out  thewords, ashamed  andindignant 
with  her  for  the  shame  he  felt.  Miranda,  in  spite 
of  herself,  was  touched  by  Wilbraham's  manner, 
and  she  answered  quite  gently  :  "  Very  well.  I 
will  buy  your  silence." 

"  Coals  of  fire ! "  he  replied  with  a  sneer. 
Miranda  understood  that  he  was  defying  her  to 
make  him  feel  ashamed.  "  Is  that  the  ticket,  Mrs. 
Warriner  ?  It  won't  lessen  the  amount  of  the  per 
annum  I  can  assure  you.  What  I  propose  is  to 
live  for  the  future  in  some  more  or  less  quiet  hole, 
where  none  of  my  acquaintances  are  likely  to  crop 
up.  Tarifa  occurred  to  me ;  for  one  thing  I  can 
reach  vou  from  Tarifa  :  for  another  I  can  do  the 
royal  act  at  Tarifa  on  a  moderate  income ;  for  a 
third  it  is  a  quiet  place  where  I  can  have  a  shot 
at  —  well,  at  what  I  want  to  do,"  and  his  voice 
suddenly  became  shy.     She  looked  at  him  and  he 


108  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONT         chap. 

coloured  under  her  glance,  and  he  shifted  in  his 
seat  and  laughed  awkwardly. 

Miranda  was  familiar  with  those  signs  and  what 
they  signified.  Wilbraham  wanted  her  to  ask  him  to 
confide  in  her.  Many  men  at  Gibraltar  had  brought 
their  troubles  to  her  in  just  this  way,  with  just 
these  marks  of  diffidence,  this  fear  that  the  troubles 
would  bore  her.  She  had  been  called  upon  to  play 
the  guardian-angel  at  times  and  had  not  shrunk 
from  the  responsibility,  though  she  had  accepted 
it  with  a  saving  modesty  of  humour  at  the  notion 
of  herself  playing  the  guardian-angel  to  any  man. 

"  What  is  it  you  want  to  do  ? '  she  asked,  and 
Wilbraham  confided  in  her.  The  position  was 
strange,  no  doubt.  Here  was  a  woman  whom  he 
had  bullied,  whom  he  meant  to  rob,  and  on  whom 
he  meant  to  live  until  he  died,  and  he  was 
confiding  in  her.  But  the  words  tumbled  from 
his  lips  and  he  did  not  think  of  the  relationship  in 
which  he  stood  to  her.  He  was  only  aware  that 
for  fifteen  years  he  had  not  shared  a  single  one  of 
his  intimate  thoughts  with  either  man  or  woman, 
and  he  was  surcharged  with  them.  Here  was  a 
woman,  frank,  reliable,  who  asked  for  his  con- 
fidence, and  he  gave  it,  with  a  schoolboy's  mixture 
of  eagerness  and  timidity. 

"  Do  you  know,"  said  he,  "  the  Odes  of  Horace 
have  never  been  well  translated  into  English  verse 
by  anyone  ?  Some  people  have  done  an  ode  or 
two  very  well,  perhaps  as  well  as  it  could  be  done 
—  Hood  for  instance  tried  his  hand  at  it.  But  no 
one  has  done  them  all,  with  any  approach  to  suc- 
cess.    And  yet  they  ought  to  be  capable  of  trans- 


vin  MIRANDA    OF   THE   BALCONY  109 

lation.  Perhaps  they  aren't — I  don't  know  — 
perhaps  they  are  too  wonderfully  perfect.  Prob- 
ably I  should  make  an  awful  hash  of  the  job ; 
but  I  think  I  should  like  to  have  a  shot.  I  began 
years  and  years  ago  when  I  was  an  attache  at  Paris, 
and  —  and  I  have  always  kept  the  book  with  me  ; 
but  one  has  had  no  time."  As  he  spoke  he  drew 
from  his  side  pocket  a  little  copy  of  Horace  in  an 
old  light-brown  cover  of  leather  very  much  frayed 
andscratched.  "  Look,"  said  he,  and  half  stretched 
it  out  to  her,  as  though  doubtful  whether  he  should 
put  it  into  her  hands  or  refuse  to  let  her  take  it  at 
all.  She  held  out  her  hand,  and  he  made  up  his 
mind  and  gave  it  into  her  keeping. 

The  copy  was  dated  1767;  the  rough  black 
type,  in  which  all  the  s's  looked  like  f's,  was 
margined  by  paper  brown  with  age  and  sullied 
with  the  rims  of  tumblers  and  the  stains  of 
tobacco ;  and  this  stained  margin  was  everywhere 
written  over  with  ink  in  a  small  fine  hand. 

"You  see  I  have  made  a  sort  of  ground-work," 
said  Wilbraham,  with  a  deprecating  laugh,  as 
though  he  feared  Miranda  would  ridicule  his  efforts. 
The  writing  consisted  of  tags  ofverse,  half-lines,  here 
and  there  complete  lines,  and  sometimes,  though 
rarely,  a  complete  stanza.  "  You  must  not  judge 
by  what  you  see  there,"  he  made  haste  to  add. 
"  All  I  have  written  on  the  margin  is  purely  tenta- 
tive ;  probably  it's  no  good  at  all."  Miranda 
turned  over  a  page  and  came  upon  one  ode  com- 
pletely translated.  "  I  did  that,"  explained  Wil- 
braham, "  one  season  when  I  shipped  as  a  hand  on 
a  Yarmouth  smack.     We  got  bad  weather  on  the 


no  MIRANDA    OF    THE    BALCONY         chap. 

Dogger  Bank,  out  in  the  North  Sea  at  Christ- 
mas. We  spent  a  good  deal  of  time  hove  to 
with  the  wheel  lashed,  and  on  night-watches  I 
used  to  make  up  the  verses.  Indeed,  those  night- 
watches  seem  the  only  time  I  have  had  free  during 
the  last  fifteen  years.  The  rest  of  the  time  —  well, 
I  have  told  you  about  it.  I  got  through  one 
complete  ode  out  in  the  North  Sea,  and  did  parts 
of  others." 

Mrs.  Warriner  began  to  read  the  ode.  "  May 
I  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Of  course,"  said  he,  with  a  flush  of  pleasure, 
and  he  watched  her  most  earnestly  for  the  involun- 
tary signs  of  approval  or  censure.  But  her  face 
betrayed  neither  the  one  nor  the  other;  and  he  was 
quick  to  apologise  for  the  ode's  shortcomings. 

"  You  mustn't  think  that  I  had  a  great  deal  of 
time  on  those  night-watches.  For  one  thing  we 
did  not  get  over-much  sleep  on  the  voyage,  and  so 
one's  brains  no  doubt  were  a  trifle  dull.  Besides, 
there  were  always  seas  combing  up  above  the  bows 
and  roaring  along  the  deck.  You  had  to  keep 
your  eyes  open  for  them  and  scuttle  down  the 
companion  before  they  came  on  board.  Other- 
wise, if  the  weight  of  the  water  took  you,  it  was  a 
case  of  this  way  to  the  pit.  The  whole  hull  of 
the  smack  disappears,  and  you  just  see  the  foresail 
sticking  up  from  the  hungry,  lashing  tumble  of 
green  water.  So,  you  see,  it  stands  to  reason  that 
ode  is  subject  to  revision." 

But  Miranda  was  not  thinking  of  the  ode.  She 
had  a  vision  of  the  smack  labouring  on  a  black 
night  in  the  trough  of  a  black  sea  flecked  with 


viii  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY  in 

white,  at  Christmas  time,  and  a  man  on  the  watch, 
who  had  been  an  attache  at  Paris,  and  was,  even 
with  the  rude  sailor-folk  for  his  companions,  en- 
gaged in  translating  Horace;  and  the  vision  had 
an  exquisite  pathos  for  her. 

"  What  was  the  beginning  of  it  all  ?  "  she  asked 
in  a  low  voice,  and  since  Wilbraham  was  in  the 
train  of  confidences,  he  told  her  that  too. 

He  told  her  perhaps  more  than  he  meant  to  tell. 
It  was  an  old  story,  the  story  of  the  faithless  woman 
and  the  man  who  trusts  her,  and  what  comes  of  it 
all.  The  story  of  Helen  and  Menelaus,  but  dis- 
figured into  a  caricature  of  its  original  by  the 
paltriness  of  the  characters  and  the  vulgarity  of 
the  incidents.  The  throb  of  primitive  passion 
was  gone  from  the  story,  and  therefore  all  dignity 
too.  Subtle  and  intricate  trivialities  of  sentiment 
took  the  place  of  passion,  and  made  the  episode 
infinitely  mean.  Menelaus  was  an  attache  at 
Paris  :  Helen  lived  at  Knightsbridge,  and  the  pair 
of  them  were  engaged  to  be  married.  Helen  was 
faithless  merely  through  a  cheap  vanity,  and  a 
cheaper  pose  of  wilfulness,  and  even  so  she  was 
faithless  merely  in  a  low  and  despicable  way.  It 
was  an  infidelity  of  innumerable  flirtations.  She 
passed  from  arm  to  arm  without  intermission,  and 
almost  allowed  those  who  fondled  her  to  overlap. 
Yet  all  the  day  she  talked  of  her  pride,  and  was 
conscious  of  no  inconsistency  between  the  vul- 
garity of  her  conduct  and  the  high  words  upon 
her  lips.  She  practised  all  the  small  necessary 
deceits  to  conceal  her  various  meetings  and  ap- 
pointments, and  was  unaware  of  the  degradation 


112  MIRANDA    OF   THE   BALCONY  chap. 

they  involved ;  for  still  she  talked  loudly  of  her 
pride.  And  when  Menelaus  lifted  his  hat  and 
wished  her  good-morning,  she  only  felt  that  she 
was  deeply  aggrieved. 

Menelaus,  however,  was  in  no  better  case.  He 
had  not  the  strength  to  thrust  her  from  his  mind, 
but  let  his  thoughts  play  sensuously  with  his  rec- 
ollections, until  he  declined  upon  a  greater  and  a 
greater  weakness. 

"  I  went  back  to  Paris,"  continued  Wilbraham. 
"  I  had  good  prospects,  but  they  came  to  nothing. 
Even  now  men  going  in  for  Mods,  have  to  get  up 
a  book  which  I  once  wrote,  and  as  for  the  service,  if 
I  were  to  tell  you  my  real  name,  it  is  just  possible 
that  you  might  have  heard  it,  for  I  was  supposed 
to  have  done  something  quite  decent  at  Zanzibar. 
Well,  I  went  back  to  Paris.  It's  a  hard  thing,  you 
know,  to  discover  that  the  woman  you  have  been 
working  for,  and  in  a  way  succeeding  for,  isn't 
worth  the  nicotine  at  the  bottom  of  your  pipe- 
bowl.  At  that  time  I  reckon  I  would  rather  have 
been  the  wreck  I  am  now,  and  believed  it  was  all 
my  fault,  for,  you  see,  I  might  then  have  imagined 
that  if  I  had  done  all  right,  I  should  have  won  the 

desirable  woman Anyway,  after  I  got  back 

to  Paris,  a  little  while  after,  there  was  trouble." 
Wilbraham  examined  his  cane  and  drew  diagrams 
upon  the  ground.  "  The  woman  blabbed,  in  a 
moment    of  confidence  ....  to    her    husband. 

There  was  a  sort  of  a  scandal I  had  to 

go.  I  didn't  blame  the  woman  who  blabbed ; 
no,  Mrs.  Warriner,  I  blamed  the  first  woman,  the 
woman  in  Knightsbridge.     Was  I  right  ?     I  came 


vni  MIRANDA    OF   THE   BALCONY  113 

back  to  England.  I  was  a  second  son,  and  my 
father  slammed  the  door  in  my  face.  Then,  Mrs. 
Warriner,  I  blamed  all  women,  you  —  you  —  you 
amongst  the  others,  even  though  I  didn't  know 
you."  He  spoke  in  a  gust  of  extraordinary 
violence,  and  so  brought  his  confidences  to  an 
end.  "  Now  your  income  is  —  "  he  resumed,  and 
fetched  out  his  pocket-book  again.  "  I  made  a 
note  about  your  estate  when  I  was  doing  business 
with  Warriner/'  he  said.  "  The  note  comes  in 
usefully  now." 

He  found  the  details  of  which  he  was  in  search, 
and  made  a  neat  little  sum  at  the  corner  of  the 
leaf,  to  which  Miranda  paid  no  attention  whatso- 
ever. The  queer  inclination  towards  pity  which 
had  moved  her  to  ask  for  his  confidence,  had  been 
entirely  and  finally  destroyed  by  the  confidence 
she  had  asked  for.  The  story  was  so  utterly  sordid ; 
the  characters  in  it  so  utterly  puny.  Before  he 
told  it  he  had  acquired  in  her  eyes  even  a  sort  of 
dignity,  the  dignity  of  a  man  battered  and  defeated 
in  a  battle  wherein  his  wits  were  unequally  matched 
against  the  solid  forces  of  order  ;  but  in  the  telling 
he  had  destroyed  that  impression.  Miranda  had 
no  feeling  now  but  one  of  aversion  for  the  wreck 
of  a  man  at  her  side.  She  looked  at  the  Horace, 
which  still  lay  open  on  her  lap,  and  the  contrast 
between  the  fine  scholar's  handwriting  and  the 
stains  of  the  pothouse  had  no  longer  any  power 
to  touch  her.  She  set  the  book  down  on  the 
bench,  and  stood  up. 

Wilbraham  stopped  his  calculations,  and,  with 
the  stump  of  his  pencil  in  his  mouth,  looked  at 


M4  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY        chap. 

her  alertly  and  furtively.  She  took  a  step  or  two 
towards  the  parapet  of  the  Alameda.  Wilbraham 
instantly  laid  his  pocket-book  on  the  seat  with 
the  pencil  to  mark  the  place,  and  without  any 
noise,  stood  up.  Miranda  reached  the  railings 
at  the  edge  of  the  gardens  and  leaned  her  arms 
upon  it.  The  next  moment  she  felt  a  firm  grip 
upon  her  elbow.  She  turned  round  and  saw  Wil- 
braham's  face  ablaze  with  passion.  "  I  suspected 
that,"  he  said  fiercely,  "  when  first  I  saw  where  you 
had  brought  me,"  and  he  shook  her  elbow. 

"Suspected  what?"  exclaimed  Miranda,  and 
she  drew  away  to  free  herself  from  his  grasp. 
Wilbraham's  next  movement  answered  her  ques- 
tion. For  he  slipped  between  her  and  the  railings 
with  a  glance  at  the  precipice  below. 

"  But  you  shall  not  do  it,"  he  continued.  "  I 
was  robbed  that  way  once  before ;  I'll  take  care 
the  robbery  is  not  repeated."  He  leaned  his  back 
against  the  railings  and  shook  his  finger  at  her. 

"  Besides,  there's  no  sense  in  it,"  and  he  jerked 
his  head  backwards  to  signify  the  abysm.  "  You 
are  crying  out  before  you  are  hurt.  You  don't  even 
know  how  much  I  want;  I  shan't  ruin  you.  I 
made  a  mistake  that  way  once ;  I  had  the  best 
secret  conceivable,  and  ran  my  man  down  across 
two  continents.  Then  I  was  fool  enough  to  put 
my  hand  too  deep  in  his  sky,  and  I  suppose  he 
thought  —  well,  he  blew  his  brains  out  that  night, 
and  then  was  I  robbed." 

Mrs.  Warriner  stared  at  him  with  a  growing 
horror  in  her  eyes.  "You  murdered  him,"  she 
said  slowly. 


vra  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY  115 

"  We  won't  quarrel  over  words,"  said  Wilbra- 
ham,  callously. 

Miranda  walked  back  to  the  bench.  She  was 
not  troubled  to  explain  Wilbraham's  misconcep- 
tion of  her  movement.  She  was  only  anxious  to 
be  rid  of  him.  "  What  income  do  you  want  ?  " 
she  asked. 

"  You  have  three  thousand  a  year,"  he  returned. 
"  Of  that  I  take  it  Warriner  takes  a  largish 
slice. 

Miranda  flushed.  "  My  husband  has  never 
asked  for  a  farthing  since  the  Ten  Brothers 
slipped  out  of  Gibraltar.  He  has  never  received 
a  farthing,"  she  said  angrily. 

"  An  imprudent  remark,"  said  Wilbraham.  "  I 
might  feel  inclined  to  raise  my  price." 

"At  all  events  you  shall  not  slander  him." 

Wilbraham  looked  at  her  with  his  head  cocked 
on  one  side.  "  You  are  very  loval,"  said  he, 
with  genuine  admiration.  "  I  will  not  raise  my 
price." 

Miranda  did  not,  by  any  gesture  or  word, 
acknowledge  his  compliment.  She  stood  over 
against  him  with  a  face  just  as  hard  and  white  as 
he  had  shown  to  her. 

"  I  say  seven  hundred  a  year,"  he  said  briefly. 
"  I  will  call  for  it  myself  every  quarter." 

"  I  will  send  it  to  you,"  she  interrupted. 

"  I  prefer  to  call  for  it,"  said  he  ;  for  so  he 
concealed  his  own  address  and  kept  her  within  his 
reach.  "  You  will  not  leave  Ronda  even  for  a 
week  without  giving  me  due  notice  of  your 
destination.       I    will    take    a    quarter's    payment 


n6  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY    chap,  vin 

to-day.    You  draw  on  a  bank  in  Ronda,  I  suppose, 
so  a  cheque  will  serve." 

"  If  you  will  wait  here,  I  will  bring  you  the 
cheque." 

Twenty  minutes  afterwards  she  returned  with 
it  to  the  Alameda,  where  she  found  Wilbraham 
seated  on  the  bench  with  his  Horace  in  his  hand. 
He  put  down  the  book  awkwardly,  and  rose.  He 
had  the  grace  to  feel  some  discomfort  as  he  took 
the  cheque,  and  that  discomfort  his  manner 
expressed. 

Miranda  had  no  word,  no  look,  for  him.  He 
stood  perhaps  for  the  space  of  a  minute  fingering 
the  cheque.  Then  he  said  suddenly  :  "  I  can't 
imagine  what  a  woman  like  you  sees  in  Ralph 
Warriner  to  trouble  about.  In  your  place  I 
should  have  let  him  go  his  own  way,  without 
paying  to  keep  him  out  of  prison." 

Miranda  kept  her  reasons  to  herself,  as  she  had 
done  with  the  reason  of  her  return  to  Ronda. 
She  waited  for  him  to  go,  and  he  walked  sullenly 
away  —  for  ten  yards.  Then  he  returned,  for  he 
had  left  his  copy  of  Horace  lying  upon  the  bench. 
He  picked  it  up  with  a  curious  and  almost  timor- 
ous glance  of  appeal  towards  Miranda.  She  did 
not  move  but  waited  implacably  for  his  depar- 
ture. Wilbraham  worked  his  shoulders  in  dis- 
comfort. 

"  My  clothes  don't  fit  and  God  hates  me,"  he 
cried  irritably.  Then  this  jack-in-the-box  of  for- 
tune slunk  out  of  her  sight. 


CHAPTER   IX 

SHOWS    THE    USE    WHICH  A  BLIND    MAN    MAY    MAKE 
OF    A    DARK    NIGHT 

A  week  after  Wilbraham's  departure  from 
Ronda,  the  night  fell  very  dark  at  Tangier.  In 
the  Sok  outside  the  city  gate,  the  solitary  electric 
lamp  from  its  tall  mast  threw  a  pale  light  over  a 
circle  of  the  trampled  grass,  but  outside  the  circle 
all  was  black.  There  was  no  glimmer  in  the  tents 
of  the  shoemakers  at  the  upper  corner  of  the  Sok  ; 
nor  was  there  any  stir  or  noise.  For  it  was  past 
midnight  and  the  world  was  asleep  — except  at  one 
spot  on  the  hill-side  above  the  Sok,  and  a  little 
distance  to  the  right. 

There  a  small  villa,  standing  by  itself,  shone 
gaudily  in  the  heart  of  the  blackness.  From  its 
open  windows  a  yellow  flood  of  light  streamed 
out,  and  besides  the  light,  the  music  of  a  single 
violin  and  the  rhythmical  beat  of  feet.  There 
were  other  noises  too,  such  as  the  popping  of 
corks,  and  much  laughter. 

Outside  the  villa,  and  beyond  the  range  of  its 
light,  a  man  and  a  boy  sat  patient  and  silent.  The 
man  for  his  sole  clothing  wore  a  sack,  but  a  dark 

117 


u8  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY         chap. 

cloak  lay  on  the  ground  beside  him.  With  his 
hands  he  continually  tested  a  cord  twisted  from 
palmetto  fibres,  as  though  doubtful  of  its  strength. 
At  length  the  door  of  the  villa  opened. 

"  Who  comes  out  ?  "  asked  the  man. 

"  A  man  and  a  woman,"  answered  the  boy. 

"Describe  the  man  to  me." 

"Big,  fat  — " 

"That  is  enough." 

The  man  and  the  woman  passed  through  the 
little  garden  of  the  villa,  and  walked  down  across 
the  Sok  towards  the  city  gate.  The  door  opened 
again  and  again.  There  was  a  continual  sound  of 
leave-taking  in  different  languages,  mostly  German 
and  French,  and  between  the  man  and  the  boy  the 
same  dialogue  was  repeated  and  repeated.  Some 
wore  evening  dress,  others  did  not.  Some  walked 
across  the  Sok,  others  rode. 

"  They  are  all  gone,"  said  the  boy. 

"  Wait,"  commanded  the  man. 

"  They  are  putting  out  the  lights," 

"  Are  all  the  lights  out  ?  " 

"  No,  one  light  is  burning." 

"  Wait !  " 

The  door  opened  again,  and  two  men  in  evening 
dress  came  out  on  to  the  steps. 

"  There  are  two  men,"  said  the  boy,  "  but  only 
one  wears  a  hat." 

"  Describe  him  to  me." 

"  He  is  not  tall,  he  is  thin,  but  I  cannot  see  his 
face  for  his  hat." 

"  Look  !   look  well !  " 

"  He  goes  back  into  the  house.    He  takes  off  his 


ix  MIRANDA    OF   THE   BALCONY  119 

hat.     Wait !    He  is  smoking.     He  strikes  a  match 
and  holds  it  to  his  mouth.     I  can  see  him  now." 

"  Well !     Of  what  colour  is  his  hair  ?  " 

"  Very  fair  —  yellow.  His  face  is  round,  his 
eyes  are  light." 

The  man  in  the  sack  ceased  from  his  questions, 
but  he  gave  no  sign  of  either  approval  or  dis- 
appointment. He  sat  still  in  the  darkness  until 
a  voice  from  the  little  garden  cried  out  with  a 
French  accent :  "  I  cannot  think  what  has  come  to 
the  beast.  He  has  got  loose.  And  he  was  hobbled, 
Jeremy.     You  did  hobble  him,  bein?  " 

The  boy  began  to  laugh.  "  The  little  fat  Chris- 
tian is  looking  for  the  mule  in  the  garden,"  said  he. 
"  Hush  ! "  whispered  the  man,  laying  his  hand 
upon  the  boy's  mouth.  "  Listen  !  What  does 
the  other  answer  ?      Listen  for  his  voice." 

"  He  does  not  answer," returned  the  boy.  "He 
leans  against  the  door,  and  smokes  and  waits,  while 
the  little  fat  Room  searches  for  the  mule." 

"  Help  to  find  the  mule  !  " 

The  boy  laughed  again,  rose  from  the  ground, 
and  disappeared  into  the  darkness.  In  a  few 
minutes  he  returned,  driving  the  mule  in  front 
of  him.  He  drove  it  through  the  wicket  of  the 
garden.  A  few  words  passed  between  the  little 
Frenchman  and  the  boy.  Then  the  boy  came 
back  to  the  man  seated  patiently  outside  the  rim 
of  the  villa's  lights. 

"  What  did  he  say  to  thee  ?  "  said  the  man. 

"  He  asked  me  if  I  had  stolen  the  hobbles." 

"  And  thou  didst  answer?  " 

"  That  I  knew  nothing  of  the  hobbles.      I  said 


120  MIRANDA    OF   THE   BALCONY         chap. 

that  I  had  found  the  mule  loose  in  the  Sok,  and 
seeing  the  lights,  brought  it  to  the  house." 

"  It  is  well.  Now  go,  my  son ;  go  home  and 
sleep,  and  forget  the  hours  we  have  waited  in  the 
darkness  outside  the  villa  of  the  Room.  Forget, 
so  that  in  the  morning  they  shall  never  have  been. 
Go  !     God  will  reward  thee  !  " 

The  boy  turned  upon  his  heel,  and  ran  down 
towards  the  town.  The  man  was  left  alone.  He 
remained  squatting  on  the  ground.  He  heard  the 
French  voice  exclaim  :  "  Good-night,  Jeremy." 

But  no  answering  voice  returned  the  wish. 
Jeremy  indeed  contented  himself  with  a  careless 
nod  of  the  head,  mounted  his  mule,  and  passed  out 
of  the  wicket  gate.  Jeremy  passed  within  ten 
yards  of  the  man  seated  upon  the  ground,  who 
heard  the  padding  of  the  mule's  feet  upon  the 
grass  and  smelt  the  cigar. 

He  did  not  move,  however.  A  road  ran 
between  this  stretch  of  grass  and  the  Sok  beyond, 
and  he  waited  until  the  mule's  hooves  rang  upon 
it.  Then  he  picked  up  the  dark  cloak  by  his 
side  and  ran  swiftly  and  noiselessly  down  the  grass, 
across  the  road,  over  the  trampled  Sok.  Ahead 
of  him  he  heard  the  leisurely  amble  of  the  mule. 

"  Stop ! "  he  cried  out  in  the  Moghrebbin  dialect. 
"  I  have  the  hobbles  of  the  most  noble  one." 

He  heard  the  mule  stop,  and  ran  lightly  forward. 

"  Who  is  it?  "  asked  Jeremy,  in  the  same  tongue, 
as  he  bent  round  in  his  saddle. 

"  Hassan  Akbar,"  cried  the  other,  leaping  at 
the  point  from  which  the  voice  came.  "  Ben- 
tham,  it  is  Hassan  Akbar." 


ix  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY  121 

The  man  addressed  as  Bentham  turned  quickly 
in  his  saddle  with  a  cry  and  gathered  up  the  reins; 
but  he  was  too  late.  Even  the  cry  was  stifled 
upon  his  lips.  For  Hassan  threw  the  cloak  over 
his  head,  gathered  it  in  tight  round  his  neck,  and 
still  holding  him  by  the  neck,  dragged  him  out  of 
the  saddle  and  flung  him  on  to  the  ground. 
Bentham,  half-throttled,  half-stunned,  lay  for  a 
moment  or  two  upon  his  back,  limp  and  unresist- 
ing. When  he  came  to  himself,  it  was  no  longer 
within  his  power  to  resist,  for  Hassan  knelt 
straddled  across  his  body,  pinning  him  to  the 
ground  with  the  weight  of  his  stature.  One  bony 
knee  pressed  upon  his  chest  insufferably.  Ben- 
tham's  ribs  cracked  under  it;  he  felt  that  his  ribs 
were  being  driven  into  his  lungs.  The  other  knee 
held  down  his  thighs,  and  while  he  lay  there 
incapable  of  defence,  Hassan  bound  his  arms 
tightly  together  with  the  cord  of  palmetto  fibres. 

Bentham  tried  to  shout,  but  the  cloak  was  over 
his  mouth :  the  knee  was  grinding  and  boring 
into  his  chest,  and  his  shout  was  an  exiguous  wail 
which,  when  it  had  penetrated  the  cloak,  was  no 
more  than  a  sigh.  He  waited  for  the  moment 
when  the  knee  would  be  removed,  and  waited 
motionless  without  a  twitch  of  his  muscles,  so  that 
Hassan  might  be  deceived  into  the  belief  that 
he  had  swooned,  and  remove  his  knee  and  the 
cloak. 

Hassan  removed  his  knees,  bent  down  to 
Bentham,  twined  one  arm  about  his  legs,  thrust 
the  other  underneath  his  neck,  and  lifted  him  from 
the  ground  as  though   he  was  a  child.      Bentham 


122  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY         chap. 

was  now  less  able  to  shout  than  before,  for  the 
hand  of  the  arm  which  was  about  his  neck  pressed 
the  cloak  close  upon  his  mouth; 

Bentham  struggled  for  his  breath ;  Hassan's 
arms  only  tightened  their  grip  and  held  him  like 
a  coil  of  wire.  An  utter  terror  seized  upon 
Bentham.  He  remembered  the  darkness  of  the 
night,  the  lateness  of  the  hour,  the  silence  of  the 
Sok,  and  from  the  manner  of  Hassan's  walk,  he 
knew  that  he  was  being  carried  up  the  hill  and 
away  from  Tangier.  He  was  helpless  in  the  hands 
of  a  Moor  whom  he  had  irreparably  wronged. 
Death  he  knew  he  must  expect ;  the  question 
which  troubled  him  was  what  kind  of  death. 

Hassan's  foot  struck  against  a  rope  drawn  tight 
across  his  path,  and  in  Bentham  hope  for  a  moment 
revived.  The  rope  was  the  stay  of  a  tent,  no 
doubt.  What  if  Hassan  had  lost  his  way  and 
stumbled  among  the  tents  of  the  shoemakers  ? 
But  Hassan  loosened  the  grip  of  the  arm  which 
held  his  legs,  and  Bentham  heard  him  fumbling 
with  his  hand  for  the  door-flap  of  the  tent. 
Plainly   Hassan  had  not  missed  his  way. 

Hassan  dropt  him  on  the  ground,  thrust  him 
through  the  small  opening,  and  crawled  in  after 
him.  Then  he  knelt  beside  Bentham,  turned 
back  the  cloak  from  his  face,  but  tied  it  securely 
about  his  mouth.  Bentham  could  now  see,  and 
the  flap  of  the  tent  was  open.  The  tent  was  in- 
deed one  of  the  low,  tiny  gunny-bag  tents  of  the 
shoemakers,  but  it  was  set  far  apart  from  that 
small  cluster,  as  Bentham  recognized  in  despair, 
for  through  the  aperture  he  could  see  a  long  way 


ix  MIRANDA    OF    THE    BALCONY  123 

below  him  and  a  long  way  to  his  right  the  electric 
light  in  the  middle  of  the  Sok. 

Outside  the  tent  there  was  a  sound  of  some- 
thing moving.  Bentham  sat  up  and  tore  at  his 
gag  with  his  bound  hands. 

"Why  cry  for  help  to  a  mule? '  said  Hassan, 
calmly.  "  Will  a  mule  help  thee  ? '  He  leaned 
forward  and  tightened  the  knot  which  fastened  the 
cloak  at  the  back  of  his  head.  Then  he  crawled 
out  of  the  tent  and  Bentham  heard  him  tethering 
the  mule  to  one  of  the  tent-pegs. 

Bentham  was  thus  left  alone.  He  had  a  few 
seconds,  and  he  had  at  once  to  determine  what  use 
he  would  make  of  those  seconds.  There  was  not 
enough  time  wherein  to  free  his  hands.  It  would 
have  been  sheer  waste  of  time  to  free  his  mouth 
from  the  cloak.  For  none  was  within  earshot  of 
that  tent  who  would  be  concerned  to  discover  the 
reason  of  a  cry,  and  the  cry  would  not  be  repeated, 
since  Hassan  outside  the  tent  was  still  within 
arm's  reach. 

Instead,  he  hitched  and  worked  his  white  waist- 
coat upwards  from  the  bottom,  leaning  forward 
the  while,  until  his  watch  fell  from  the  pocket  and 
dangled  on  the  end  of  the  chain  ;  after  his  watch 
a  metal  pencil-case  rolled  out  and  dropped  between 
his  knees.  One  of  the  two  things  he  meant  to  do 
was  done.  Hassan  had  bound  his  hands  not  palm  to 
palm,  but  wrist  across  wrist  ;  and  raising  his  hands 
he  was  able  with  the  tips  of  his  right-hand  fingers 
to  feel  in  the  left-hand  breast-pocket  of  his  dress- 
coat.  His  fingers  touched  a  small  pocket-book, 
opened  it,  and  plucked  out  a  leaf  of  paper.     This 


124  MIRANDA    OF   THE   BALCONY         chap. 

leaf  and  the  pencil-case  he  secreted  in  the  palm 
of  his  hand. 

Hassan  crawled  back  into  the  tent  and  closed 
the  flap.  Bentham,  with  his  knees  drawn  up  to 
his  chin,  crouched  back  against  the  wall  of  the  tent. 
Now  that  the  flap  was  closed,  it  was  pitch-dark ; 
that,  however,  made  no  difference  to  Hassan 
Akbar,  who  lived  in  darkness,  and  out  of  the 
darkness  his  voice  spoke. 

"  The  ways  of  God  are  very  wonderful.  You 
gave  me  this  tent.  With  the  dollar  you  dropped 
on  my  knees  at  the  gate  of  the  cemetery,  I  bought 
this  tent  and  set  it  up  here  apart,  to  keep  you 
safe  for  the  little  time  before  you  start  upon  your 
journey." 

Bentham  took  no  comfort  from  the  passionless 
voice,  though  his  heart  leaped  at  the  words.  He 
was  not  then  to  be  killed.  He  did  not  answer 
Hassan,  but  remained  crouched  in  his  corner. 

"  Now  the  dog  of  a  Christian  will  speak,"  said 
Hassan,  quietly.  Bentham  made  no  movement. 
Hassan  crawled  towards  him,  felt  his  feet,  his 
up-drawn  knees,  and  reaching  his  face  untied  the 
cloak  from  his  mouth.  "  Now  the  dog  of  a 
Christian  will  speak,"  he  repeated  softly,  in  a  low 
gentle  voice,  "  so  that  I  may  know  it  is  indeed 
Bentham,  who  took  shelter  with  me  at  Tangier,  and 
ate  of  my  kouss-kouss,  and  thereafter  betrayed  me." 

Bentham  did  not  reply.  If  Hassan  had  a  doubt, 
then  it  was  his  part  to  make  the  most  of  it  to 
prolong  the  solution  of  the  doubt,  to  defer  it,  if  it 
might  be,  till  the  morning  came.  This  was 
summer — July  —  the  morning  comes  early  in  July, 


ix  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY  125 

not  so  early  as  in  June,  but  still  early.     Would 
that  this  had  happened  one  month  back  ! 

Hassan  kneeled  upon  his  hams  by  Bentham's 
side.  "  Will  not  the  dog  of  a  Christian  speak  ?  ' 
he  asked  in  a  wheedling  voice,  which  daunted  and 
chilled  the  man  he  spoke  to.  "  Let  us  see  ! '  And 
again  his  sinuous  hands  lingered  and  stole  over 
Bentham's  face.  The  thumbs  lingered  about 
Bentham's  eyes. 

Bentham  shivered ;  but  still,  though  the  desire 
to  shout,  to  curse,  to  relieve  by  some  violence,  if 
only  of  speech,  the  tension  he  was  suffering,  was 
strong,  he  mastered  himself,  he  held  his  tongue, 
for  if  once  he  did  speak  he  betrayed  himself.  His 
only  chance  lay  in  Hassan's  doubt,  which  lived 
upon  his  silence.  Again  Hassan's  fingers  returned 
to  his  face.  Bentham  closed  his  eyes  ;  the  thumbs 
touched  and  retouched  them,  now  pressing  gently 
upon  the  eyeballs,  now  working  about  the  corners 
of  the  sockets.  Finally  Hassan  snatched  his  hands 
away.  "  If  I  did  that,"  he  murmured,  "  they 
would  not  take  him,  for  he  would  fetch  no 
price;"  and  Bentham  understood  the  fate  which 
was  in  store  for  him  —  if  he  spoke. 

Hassan  left  his  side,  and  was  busy  in  a  corner  of 
the  tent,  at  what  Bentham  could  not  for  the 
moment  discover.  He  heard  a  cracking  of  twigs  ; 
what  was  to  follow  ?  One  instant  he  dreaded,  the 
next  he  burned  to  know,  and  all  the  while  he 
shivered  with  terror.  Hassan  struck  a  match  and 
lit  the  twigs,  and  breathed  upon  the  little  blue 
flames,  until  they  warmed  to  yellow,  and  spirted 
up  into  a  fire. 


126  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY  chap. 

Bentham  watched  Hassan's  gaunt,  disfigured, 
inexpressive  face,  as  he  crouched  over  the  twigs,  and 
his  terror  increased.  He  saw  that  he  held  some- 
thing in  each  hand,  something  that  flashed  bright, 
like  a  disk  of  iron.  Hassan  laid  the  disks  upon 
the  twigs  ;  they  were  the  hobbles  which  Bentham 
had  placed  upon  his  mule  early  that  evening. 

Bentham  began  to  count  the  seconds  ;  at  any 
moment  the  morning  might  begin  to  break,  surely, 
surely.  As  he  watched  the  hobbles  growing  hot 
and  the  sparks  dance  upon  the  iron,  he  continued 
to  count  the  seconds,  not  knowing  what  he  did, 
and  at  an  incredible  speed. 

Hassan  picked  up  the  hobbles,  each  with  a  cleft 
stick,  and  brought  them  over  to  Bentham.  "  Now 
the  dog  of  a  Christian  will  speak,"  said  he. 

Bentham  summoned  all  his  courage,  all  his 
strength,  and  was  silent.  Hassan  reached  out  his 
hands,  and  drew  his  legs  from  under  him,  and 
fitted  the  hobbles  over  his  slippers,  and  fixed  them 
round  his  ankles  like  a  pair  of  fetters. 

Bentham  uttered  a  cry  —  it  was  almost  a  scream 
—  as  the  iron  burnt  into  his  flesh.  He  kicked,  he 
struggled  to  free  his  legs,  to  free  his  hands ;  but 
Hassan  Akbar  dragged  him  forward,  thrust  him 
down  upon  his  back,  and  pinned  his  shoulders  to 
the  ground.  Bentham  could  do  no  more  than 
vainly  writhe  in  convulsive  movements  of  his  limbs. 
The  hot  iron  rings  clung  to  his  ankles  ;  the  smoke 
from  the  wood  fire  choked  him ;  the  smell  of  burning 
flesh  was  acrid  in  his  nostrils.  Agony  redoubled  his 
strength,  but  even  so,  he  was  too  crippled,  and 
Hassan's  grasp  upon  his  shoulders  did  not  relax. 


ix  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY  127 

In  the  end  Hassan  had  his  heart's  desire,  and 
Bentham  spoke.  He  spoke  too  in  the  low  voice 
which  Hassan  enjoined,  though  he  used  it  without 
thought  to  obey,  —  low,  voluble,  earnest  prayers 
for  mercy,  and  then  again  voluble  curses,  and 
again  voluble  appeals  for  pity,  and  at  the  end 
of  it  a  broken  whimpering,  as  though  his  strength 
was  gone,  and  the  convulsive  jerks  which  a  fish 
makes  in  a  basket. 

All  the  while  Hassan  held  him  down,  listening 
to  the  appeals,  the  prayers,  the  curses,  with  an 
untouched  gravity  of  face.  "  It  is  indeed  you  ; 
I  have  made  no  mistake,"  and  he  freed  him  from 
the  burning  fetters,  and  opened  the  flap  of  the 
tent.  Bentham  rolled  over  on  his  side  with  his 
face  to  the  opening,  and  lay  there  shaking,  moan- 
ing. "  Now  I  will  tell  you  what  I  have  planned 
for  you,"  continued  Hassan.  "  I  thought  at  first 
to  kill  you,  but  it  is  so  small  a  thing.  Then  I 
remembered  words  you  once  told  me,  that  you  had 
trouble  with  your  own  people,  and  could  not  ask 
them  for  protection.  So  friends  of  mine  from  Beni 
Hassan,  who  go  upon  their  way  to-night,  will  take 
you  with  them,  and  sell  you  when  they  are  far 
away.  And  for  the  rest  of  your  days  you  will 
carry  loads  upon  your  back  up  and  down  the 
inlands  of  Morocco,  and  your  masters  will  beat 
you,  and  if  you  faint  and  are  tired,  they  will  do 
strange  things  to  make  you  suffer,  even  as  I 
did  with  the  hobbles.  Lo,  here  my  friends 
come  ! 

The  sound  of  steps  came  to  their  ears.  A  few 
moments  later  a  hand  fumbled  at  the  flap  of  the 


128  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY     chap,  ix 

tent,  opened  it,  and  a  head  was  thrust  in.     "  Is  it 
you,  Hassan  Akbar  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  replied  Hassan  ;  "  and  here  is  the  Room 
whom  you  promised  to  take  out  of  my  path.  He 
will  fetch  a  price,  and  besides  I  give  to  you  his 
mule,  which  you  will  find  tethered  to  the  tent." 

"  And  the  saddle  too,  Hassan,  is  it  not  so  ?  ' 

"  It  is." 

Meanwhile  Hassan  cut  Bentham's  clothes  from 
him  as  he  lay  upon  the  ground,  and  taking  off  his 
own  sack,  cast  it  for  a  garment  over  Bentham's 
shoulders,  and  wrapped  himself  in  the  dark  cloak. 
In  the  place  of  that  cloak  he  tied  over  Ben- 
tham's mouth  a  thick  rag.  Then  he  thrust  him 
out  of  the  tent,  and  jerked  him  on  to  his  feet. 
Bentham  made  no  longer  any  resistance ;  he  let 
them  do  with  him  as  they  were  pleased ;  and  he 
stood  tottering  and  swaying. 

Five  Arabs  waited  outside  the  tent.  "  He 
cannot  walk,  he  shall  ride  the  mule  this  night," 
said  the  chief  of  them.  "  To-morrow  he  shall 
learn  to  walk." 

They  hoisted  Bentham  on  to  the  back  of  the 
mule,  and  tied  him  there  with  leathern  thongs. 
Then  they  started  on  their  long  journey. 

The  cool  night  air  after  the  stifling  tent  revived 
the  man  who  perforce  rode  the  mule.  It  did  not 
give  him  strength  to  resist,  or  as  yet  even  the  impulse 
to  cry  out ;  but  it  restored  to  him  the  power  to 
hear  and  to  understand.  What  he  heard  was  a 
distant  clock  below  him  in  Tangier  striking  an 
hour;  what  he  understood  was  that  the  hour 
it  struck  was  only  one  o'clock. 


CHAPTER   X 

M.   FOURNIER    EXPOUNDS    THE    ADVANTAGES    WHICH 
EACH    SEX    HAS    OVER    THE    OTHER 

The  long  interview  with  Wilbraham  in  the 
Alameda  of  Ronda  had  consequences  for  Miranda 
which  she  felt  but  did  not  trace  to  their  source. 
It  was  not  merely  that  she  sickened  at  the  vulgar, 
futile  story  of  his  ruin  ;  that  she  saw  in  imagina- 
tion the  wretched  victim  he  had  run  to  earth  across 
two  continents,  closing  the  door  and  slipping  the 
pistol-barrel  between  his  teeth  ;  that  she  loathed 
the  knowledge  that  this  man  was  henceforward  her 
gaoler  ;  but  she  took  him  and  the  bitter  years  of 
her  marriage  together  in  her  thoughts,  and  using 
them  as  premisses  began  doubtfully  to  draw  uni- 
versal conclusions. 

These  conclusions  Miranda  hazarded  at  times  in 
the  form  of  questions  to  her  companion  Jane  Holt, 
and  sought  answers  from  her  as  from  one  who  had 
great  experience  of  the  tortuous  conduct  of  men. 
Were  men  trustworthy  at  all  ?  If  so,  were  there 
any  means  by  which  a  woman  could  test  their  trust- 
worthiness ?     These  two  questions  were  the  most 

K  I29 


130  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY         chap. 

constant  upon  Miranda's  tongue,  and  Jane  Holt 
answered  them  with  assurance,  and  in  her  own  way. 
Wilbraham  had  not  erred  when  he  described  her 
as  a  sentimentalist  with  grievances.  Sentimentalism 
was  the  shallows  of  her  nature,  and  she  had  no 
depths.  Her  conversation  ran  continually  upon 
the  "  big  things,"  as  she  termed  them,  such  as 
devotion,  endurance,  self-sacrifice,  and  the  rest,  in 
which  qualities  men  were  singularly  deficient. 
She  meant,  however,  only  devotion  to  her,  endur- 
ance of  her,  self-sacrifice  for  her,  of  which  it  was 
not  unnatural  that  men  should  tire,  seeing  who  it 
was  that  demanded  them.  Yet  she  had  enjoyed 
her  share,  and  more  than  her  share.  For  though 
incapable  of  passion  herself,  she  had  in  her  youth 
possessed  the  trick  of  inspiring  it,  but  without  the 
power,  perhaps  through  her  own  incapacity,  of 
keeping  it  alive,  and  no  doubt  too  because  upon  a 
moderate  acquaintance  she  conveyed  an  impression 
of  inherent  falsity.  For,  being  a  sentimentalist,  she 
lived  in  a  false  world,  on  the  borders  of  a  lie,  never 
quite  telling  it  perhaps,  and  certainly  never  quite 
not  telling  it.  She  was  by  nature  exigent,  for  she 
was  in  her  own  eyes  the  pivot  of  her  little  world, 
and  for  the  wider  world  beyond,  she  had  no  eyes 
whatever.  And  her  exigence  took  amusing  or 
irritating  shapes  according  to  the  point  of  view  of 
those  who  suffered  it.  For  instance,  you  must 
never  praise  her  costumes,  of  which  she  had  many, 
and  those  worthy  of  praise,  but  the  high  qualities 
of  her  mind,  which  were  few  and  often  of  no  taste 
whatever.  It  should  be  added  that  she  had  always 
favoured  an  inferior  before  an  equal.    For  it  pleased 


x       MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY  131 

her  above  all  things  to  condescend,  since  she  secured 
thus  a  double  flattery,  in  the  knowledge  of  her  own 
condescension,  and  in  the  grateful  humility  of 
those  to  whom  she  condescended. 

It  can  be  foreseen,  then,  what  answers  this 
woman,  —  who  was  tall,  and  still  retained  the 
elegance  of  her  figure,  and  would  have  still  re- 
tained the  good  looks  of  her  face,  but  that  it  was 
written  upon  by  many  grievances  —  would  give  to 
Miranda's  questions. 

"  You  can  trust  no  men.  You  must  bribe  them 
with  cajoleries  ;  you  must  play  the  coquette ;  you 
must  enlist  their  vanity.  They  are  all  trivial,  and 
the  big  things  do  not  appeal  to  them." 

Miranda  listened.  She  was  accustomed  to  Jane 
Holt,  and  had  no  longer  a  reasoned  conception  of 
her  character.  Habit  had  dulled  her  impressions. 
She  remembered  only  that  Jane  Holt  had  had  much 
experience  of  men  wherein  she  herself  was  wofully 
deficient.  Jane  Holt  embroidered  her  theme;  a 
pretty  display  of  petulance,  the  seemingly  acci- 
dental disclosure  of  an  ankle,  a  voluntary  involun- 
tary pressure  of  the  arm,  these  things  had  power 
to  persuade  the  male  mind,  such  as  it  is,  and  to 
enmesh  that  worthless  thing  the  male  heart. 

"  One  might  have  a  man  for  a  friend,  perhaps," 
suggested  Miranda,  hopefully. 

"My  poor  Miranda !"  exclaimed  Miss  Holt. 
"No  wonder  your  marriage  was  a  failure.  Men 
pretend  friendship  for  a  woman  at  times,  but  they 
mean  something  else." 

The  moral  was  always  that  they  were  not  to  be 
trusted,  and   Miranda,  vividly  recollecting  Ralph 


132  MIRANDA    OF   THE   BALCONY  chap. 

Warriner  and  Wilbraham,  listened  and  wondered, 
listened  and  wondered,  until  she  would  rise  of  a 
sudden  and  take  refuge  in  her  own  parlour,  of 
which  the  window  looked  out  across  the  valley  to 
the  hills,  where  she  would  sit  with  a  throbbing 
forehead  pressed  upon  her  palms,  certain,  certain, 
that  the  homily  was  not  true,  and  yet  half  dis- 
tracted lest  it  should  be  true. 

On  the  morrow  of  one  such  conversation,  and 
one  such  flight,  Miss  Holt  came  into  the  little 
parlour  —  a  cool,  dark-panelled,  low-roofed  room 
of  which  the  door  gave  on  to  the  patio  —  and 
found  Miranda  searching  the  room. 

"  Do  you  know  what  month  this  is  ?  "  Miss 
Holt  asked  severely. 

"  October." 

"  Quite  so,"  and  great  emphasis  was  laid  upon 
the  words. 

"  I  know,"  replied  Miranda,  penitently,  as  she 
crossed  over  to  a  table  and  lifted  the  books.  "  We 
have  been  here  all  the  summer;  it  has  been  very 
hot.  I  am  sorry,  but  I  was  compelled  to  stay.  I 
did  not  know  what  might  occur,  and,"  she 
anxiously  turned  over  the  letters  and  papers  on 
her  writing-table  in  the  window,  "  it  was  some 
comfort,  I  admit,  to  feel  that  one  was  near  — " 
She  stopped  suddenly  and  resumed  in  confusion, 
"  I  mean  I  did  not  know  what  might  happen." 

Jane  Holt  looked  at  her  with  great  displeasure, 
but  said  nothing  until  Miranda  began  hurriedly  to 
open  and  shut  the  drawers  of  her  writing-table. 
Then  she  said  irritably:  "  What  in  the  world  are 
you  looking  for  ?  " 


x       MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY  133 

Miranda  stood  up  and  looked  round  the  room. 
"  There  was  a  glove,"  she  said  absently. 

"  Yes,  I  threw  it  away." 

"  Threw  it  away  ! '  Miranda  stared  at  Jane 
Holt  with  a  look  of  complete  dismay.  "  You 
don't  mean  that.     Oh,  you  can't  mean  it !  " 

"  Indeed  I  do ;  it  was  torn  across  the  palm." 

"  I  left  it  lying  there,  on  my  writing-desk,  yes- 
terday, after  you  and  I  had  been  talking  —  "  She 
left  the  sentence  unfinished. 

"  Yes,  and  I  found  it  there.  It  was  torn,  so  I 
had  it  thrown  away." 

Miranda  rang  a  hand-bell,  and  ordered  search 
to  be  made  for  the  glove.  It  could  not  be  found ; 
it  had  been  burnt  with  the  answered  letters. 

"  Very  well,"  said  Miranda,  and  the  servant  re- 
tired. Miranda  sat  down,  and  showed  to  Jane  Holt 
a  face  of  which  the  expression  was  almost  scared. 

"  What  does  it  matter  ?  "  exclaimed  Jane.  "  The 
glove  was  torn  ;  you  could  never  have  used  it." 

"No,"  answered  Miranda,  quickly,  almost 
guiltily  it  seemed.  "  I  should  never  have  used 
it;  I  never  meant  to  use  it.  The  glove  was  only 
a  symbol ;  it  was  no  more  than  that,  it  represented 
a  belief.  I  can  retain  the  belief,  no  doubt.  No 
doubt,  though,  I  have  lost  the  glove  —  " 

"What  in  the  world  are  you  talking  about?" 
interrupted  Jane  Holt. 

"  Nothing,  nothing,"  answered  Miranda,  with  a 
start.  The  loss  of  the  glove  had  so  dismayed  her 
that  she  had  forgotten  who  it  was  she  had  been 
speaking  to,  or  indeed  that  she  was  speaking  to 
anyone.     She  had  merely   uttered  her   thoughts, 


134  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY         chap, 

for  she  had  come  to  look  upon  that  glove,  which, 
under  no  circumstances,  would  she  use,  as  none  the 
less  a  safeguard,  and  of  late,  in  particular,  she  had 
fallen  into  a  habit  of  taking  it  from  the  drawer  in 
which  it  rested  and  setting  it  before  her  eyes ;  of 
stating  it,  as  it  were,  as  a  refutation  of  Jane  Holt's 
ready  opinions. 

Jane  Holt  shook  her  head.  "  You  have  changed 
very  much  towards  me,  Miranda.  You  are  grow- 
ing secret.  I  don't  want  to  know.  I  would  not 
press  anyone  for  their  confidence  ;  but  I  may  think 
it  strange,  I  suppose  ?  "  She  folded  her  arms  across 
her  breast  and  tapped  with  her  ringers  upon  her 
elbows.  "  I  suppose  I  may  think  it  strange ;  and 
if  anyone  took  the  trouble  to  give  me  a  thought, 
perhaps  anyone  might  believe  that  I  had  a  right  to 
feel  hurt.  But  I  don't !  Please  don't  run  away 
with  that  idea  !  No,  I  cannot  allow  you,  Miranda, 
to  fancy  for  a  moment  that  I  should  feel  hurt. 
But  I  do  notice  that  you  jump  whenever  there  is  a 
knock  at  the  door.     There  !     What  did  I  say  ? ' 

The  door  of  the  parlour  stood  open  to  the  patio  ; 
in  the  corner  of  the  opposite  side  of  the  patio  there 
was  the  mouth  of  a  passage  which  led  to  the  outer 
door  ;  and  upon  that  outer  door  just  at  this  moment 
someone  rapped  heavily,as  though  he  came  in  haste. 
Miranda  started  nervously,  and  to  cover  the  move- 
ment, rose  from  her  chair  and  closed  the  door. 

"  And  as  for  the  glove,"  resumed  Jane  Holt, 
who  found  it  difficult  to  leave  any  subject  alone 
when  it  was  evident  that  it  was  unwelcome,  "  you 
could  never  have  used  it." 

"  No,"  answered  Miranda,  thoughtfully.    "  Of 


x       MIRANDA    OF    THE    BALCONY  135 

course  —  of  course,  I  could  never  have  used  it;" 
and  a  servant  entered  the  room  and  handed  to 
her  a  card  on  which  was  engraved  M.  Fournier's 
name  and  address. 

Miranda  held  the  card  beneath  her  eyes  for  some 
little  while.  Then  she  walked  out  into  the  patio, 
where  M.  Fournier  awaited  her.  He  came  towards 
her  at  once,  in  an  extreme  agitation,  but  she  signed 
to  him  to  be  silent,  and  opening  a  second  door  on 
the  same  side  of  the  patio  as  the  door  of  her  par- 
lour, but  farther  to  the  right,  she  led  the  way  into 
a  tiny  garden  rich  with  deep  colours.  Jonquils, 
camellias,  roses,  wild  geraniums,  and  pinks,  tended 
with  a  care  which  bespoke  a  mistress  from  another 
country,  made  a  gay  blaze  in  the  sun,  and  sweet- 
ened the  air  with  their  delicate  perfumes. 

The  garden  was  an  irregular  nook  with  some- 
thing of  the  shape  of  a  triangle,  enclosed  between 
the  back  wall  of  the  house  and  a  wing  flung  out 
at  a  right  angle.  The  base  of  the  triangle  was  an 
old  brick  wall,  breast-high,  which  began  at  the  end 
of  the  house  wall  and  curved  outwards  until  it 
reached  the  wing.  Over  this  wall  the  eye  looked 
through  air  to  the  olive-planted  slope  of  a  moun- 
tain. For  the  house  was  built  on  the  brink  of 
the  precipice,  it  was  in  a  line  with  the  Alameda, 
though  divided  from  it  by  the  great  chasm,  and 
if  one  leaned  over  the  crumbling  wall  built  long 
ago  by  the  Moors,  one  had  an  impression  that 
one  ought  to  see  the  waves  churning  at  the  foot 
of  the  rock  and  to  hear  a  faint  moaning  of  the 
sea ;  so  that  the  sight  of  the  level  carpet  of  the 
plain  continually  surprised  the  eyes. 


136  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY         chap. 

Into  this  garden  Miranda  brought  M.  Fournier. 
No  windows  overlooked  it,  for  those  which  gave 
light  to  Miranda's  parlour  were  in  the  end  and 
the  other  side  of  the  wing,  and  so  commanded 
the  valley  without  commanding  this  enclosure. 
A  little  flagged  causeway  opened  a  path  between 
the  flowers  to  the  nook  between  the  wing  of  the 
house  and  the  old  wall,  where  two  lounge  chairs 
invited  use. 

Miranda  seated  herself  in  one  of  these  chairs 
and  with  a  gesture  offered  the  other  to  M. 
Fournier.  M.  Fournier,  however,  took  no  heed 
of  the  invitation.  He  had  eyes  only  for 
Miranda's  face.  He  held  his  hat  in  one  hand, 
and  with  a  coloured  handkerchief  continually 
mopped  his  forehead,  a  dusty  perspiring  image 
of  anxiety. 

"  You  come  from  my  husband  ?  "  said  Miranda. 

M.  Fournier's  face  lightened.  "Ah,  then,  you 
know  —  " 

"That  he  is  alive?   Yes.    You  come  from  him?  " 

"  From  him,  no ;  on  his  behalf,  yes." 

Miranda  smiled  at  the  subtle  distinction. 
"  You  need  money,  of  course,"  she  said  drily. 
"  How  much  do  you  want?  You  have,  no  doubt, 
some  authority  from  my  husband." 

The  little  Belgian's  anxiety  gave  place  to 
offended  pride.  "  We  do  not  need  money,  neither 
he  nor  I ;  but  as  for  authority,  perhaps  this  will 
serve." 

He  drew  from  his  pocket  a  soiled  scrap  of  paper 
and  handed  it  to  Miranda.  The  paper,  as  she 
could  see  from  the  blue  lines,  the  shape,  and  the 


x  MIRANDA    OF   THE   BALCONY  137 

jagged  border,  had  been  torn  from  a  small  pocket- 
book.  It  was  so  crumpled  and  soiled  that  a  few 
words  scribbled  with  a  pencil  on  the  outside  in 
Arabic  were  barely  visible.  Miranda  unfolded 
the  paper  slowly,  for  the  mere  look  of  it  was 
sinister.  The  words  within  were  written  also  in 
pencil,  and  her  face  altered  as  she  read  them. 

"  What  does  J.  B.  mean  ?  "  she  asked. 

"J.  B.  are  the  initials  of  the  name  he  took." 

"  You  are  sure  this  comes  from  my  husband  ? 
I  do  not  recognise  his  hand." 

"  Quite  sure." 

"  Here  is  bad  news,"  said  she,  and  she  conned 
the  words  over  again,  and  could  nowhere  pick  out 
the  familiar  characteristics  of  Ralph  Warriner's 
handwriting.  The  words  themselves  were  star- 
tling. Reward  the  bearer  well,  and  for  God 's  sake 
do  quickly  what  you  can.  But  more  startling, 
more  significant,  than  the  words  was  the  agitation 
of  the  writer's  hand.  Haste  and  terror  had  kept 
the  hand  wavering.  Here  the  pencil  had  paused, 
yet  even  when  pausing,  its  point  had  trembled  on 
the  paper,  as  the  blurred  dots  showed.  Miranda 
imagined  that  so  it  had  paused  and  trembled,  while 
someone  walked  by  the  writer's  back  and  had  but 
to  glance  over  his  shoulder  to  discover  the  business 
he  was  engaged  upon.  Then  again  the  pencil  had 
raced  on,  running  the  words  one  into  the  other, 
fevered  to  get  the  message  done.  A  whole  trag- 
edy was  indicated  in  the  formation  of  the  letters. 
Or  a  malady  ?  Miranda  turned  eagerly  to  the 
letter.  The  writing  wavered  up  and  down.  The 
small  letters  were  clear ;  the  capitals  and  the  long 


138  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY        chap. 

letters,  the  "f's,"  the  "q's,"  the  "y's,"  weak,  as 
though  the  fingers  could  not  control  the  pencil. 
Illness  might  account  for  the  message,  and 
Miranda  chose  that  supposition. 

"  He  is  lying  very  ill  somewhere,"  she  said. 

M.  Fournier  shook  his  head.  "  No.  I  tried 
to  believe  that  myself  at  first ;  but  I  never  did 
believe  it,  and  I  thought  and  thought  and  thought 
—  Tenezy  look  !  "  He  drew  a  piece  of  blank 
paper  from  one  pocket,  a  pencil  from  another. 
The  paper  he  spread  upon  his  knee,  the  pencil  he 
took  between  his  teeth ;  then  he  held  out  his 
wrists. 

"  Now  fasten  them  together." 

Miranda  uttered  a  cry.  Her  face  grew  very 
white.     "  What  with?  "  she  asked. 

"Your  belt." 

She  unclasped  her  belt  from  her  waist  and 
strapped   Fournier's  wrists  together. 

"  Tighter,"  said  he,  "  tighter.     Now  see  ! ' 

With  great  difficulty  and  labour  he  copied  out 
Warriner's  message  on  the  blank  paper ;  and 
while  he  wrote  Miranda  saw  the  sentence  wavering 
up  and  down,  the  small  letters  coming  out  clear 
and  small,  the  long  strokes  and  tails  straggling. 
She  seized  the  copy  almost  before  he  had  finished, 
and  held  it  side  by  side  with  the  original.  There 
was  a  difference,  of  course,  the  difference  which 
stamped  one  man's  hand  as  Warriner's  and  the 
other  as  Fournier's,  the  difference  of  fear,  but  that 
was  the  only  difference.  The  method  in  each 
case  was  identical ;  the  same  difficulties  had  pro- 
duced the  same  results. 


x       MIRANDA    OF    THE    BALCONY  139 

"  There  can  be  no  doubt,  hein  ? '  asked 
Fournier,  as   Miranda  unfastened  the  belt. 

"  How  did  this  come  to  you  ?  "  she  returned. 

"  I  tell  you,"  said  he,  "  from  the  beginning. 
Bentham  —  that  is  what  M.  Warriner  calls  himself 
now,  Bentham  —  Jeremy  Bentham  he  calls  himself, 
because  he  says  he's  such  an  economist  —  well,  he 
and  I  are  partners  in  a  little  business,  and  we  have 
prospered.  So  when  Bentham  came  back  from 
Bemin  Sooar  to  Tangier  a  week  ago,  I  give  a 
dinner  in  my  house  to  a  few  friends  and  we  dance 
afterwards.  Perhaps  ten  or  eleven  of  us  and 
Bentham.  Bentham  he  came  and  danced  and  he 
was  the  last  to  go  away.  He  did  not  stay  in  my 
house — it  was  better  for  our  little  business  that  we 
should  not  be  thought  more  than  mere  friends. 
He  had  a  lodging  in  the  town,  while  my  house 
was  outside  up  the  hill.  He  rode  away  alone  on  a 
mule,  for  he  was  in  evening  dress  and  one  cannot 
walk  across  the  Sok  in  dancing  shoes,  and  he 
never  reached  his  lodging.  He  disappeared.  I 
heard  no  word  of  him,  until  yesterday  ;  yesterday 
about  mid-day,  an  Arab  brought  that  scrap  of 
paper  to  my  shop." 

"  But  the  Arab  told  you  how  and  where  he  got 
it?  "  said  Miranda. 

"  Yes.  He  belonged  to  a  douar,  a  tent  village, 
you  understand.  The  village  is  three  days  from 
Tangier  on  the  road  to  Mequinez.  The  Arab  was 
leading  down  his  goats  to  the  water  a  week  ago,  in 
the  morning,  when  six  men  passed  him  at  a  dis- 
tance. They  were  going  up  into  the  country  ; 
they  had  a  mule  with  them.      He  watched  them 


i4o  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY  chap. 

pass  and  noticed  that  one  of  them  would  now  and 
then  loiter  and  fall  a  little  behind,  whereupon  the 
rest  beat  him  with  sticks  and  drove  him  again  in 
front.  And  he  did  not  resist,  Madame,  I  am  afraid 
we  know  why  he  did  not  resist." 

Miranda  pressed  her  hands  to  her  forehead. 

"  Well,"  she  said  with  an  effort,  and  her  voice 
had  sunk  to  a  whisper,  "finish,  finish  ! " 

"  It  seemed  to  the  Arab,"  continued  Fournier, 
whose  anxiety  seemed  in  some  measure  to  dimin- 
ish, and  whose  face  grew  hopeful  as  he  watched 
Miranda's  increasing  distress,  "  that  this  victim 
made  a  sign  to  him,  and  when  the  party  had  gone 
by  he  noticed  something  white  gleaming  on  the 
brown  soil  in  the  line  of  their  march.  He  went 
forward  and  picked  it  up.  It  was  this  piece  of 
paper.  He  read  the  writing  on  it,  these  marks." 
M.  Fournier  turned  over  the  sheet,  and  pointed  to 
the  indecipherable  Arabic.  "  They  mean,  '  Take 
this  to  Fournier  at  Tangier  and  you  will  get 
money.'  He  opened  it,  he  could  not  read  the 
inside,  but  seeing  that  it  was  written  in  one  of  the 
languages  of  the  Nazarenes,  he  thought  there  might 
be  some  truth  in  the  promise.  So  he  brought  the 
paper  to  Tangier  yesterday  and  I  have  brought  it 
to  you." 

M.  Fournier  settled  his  glasses  upon  his  nose  and 
leaned  forward  for  his  answer.  Miranda  sat  with 
knitted  brows,  gazing  out  to  the  dark  mountains. 
Fournier  would  not  interrupt  her ;  he  fancied  she 
was  searching  her  wits  tor  a  device  to  bring  help  to 
Warriner  ;  but,  indeed,  she  was  not  thinking  at  all. 

Miranda  had  a  trick  of  seeing  pictures.     She 


x       MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY  141 

was  not  given  to  arguments  and  inferences  ;  but  a 
word,  a  sentence,  would  strike  upon  her  hearing, 
and  at  once  a  curtain  was  rolled  up  somewhere  in 
her  mind,  and  she  saw  men  moving  to  and  fro  and 
things  happening  as  upon  a  lighted  stage.  Such 
pictures  made  up  her  arguments,  her  conclusions, 
even  her  motives  ;  and  it  was  because  of  their 
instant  vividness  that  she  was  so  rapidly  moved  to 
sympathy  and  dislike.  So  now  there  was  set  before 
her  eyes  the  picture  of  a  man  riding  down  the 
hill  of  Tangier  at  night  in  the  civilisation  of 
evening  dress,  and,  as  she  looked,  it  melted  into 
another  in  which  the  same  man,  clad  in  vile  rags, 
with  his  hands  bound,  was  flogged  forwards  under 
a  burning  sun  into  the  barbaric  inlands  of  Morocco. 
She  saw  that  brutal  party,  the  five  gaolers,  the  one 
captive,  straggle  past  the  tent  village.  She  guessed 
at  Ralph's  despairing  glance  as  though  it  was 
directed  towards  herself,  she  saw  the  scrap  of  paper 
flutter  white  upon  the  dark  soil.  And  as  she  con- 
templated this  vision,  sheheard  M.  Fournier  speak- 
ing again  to  her;  but  the  sound  of  his  voice  had 
changed.  He  was  no  longer  telling  his  story  ;  he 
was  pleading  with  a  tenderness  which  had  some- 
thing grotesquely  pathetic,  when  she  considered 
who  it  was  for  whom  he  pleaded.  His  foreign 
accent  became  more  pronounced,  and  the  voluble 
words  tumbled  one  over  the  other. 

"  So  M.  Warriner  does  not  ask  you  for  money ; 
that  sees  itself,  is  it  not  ?  Nor  even  does  he  ask 
you  for  help.  Be  sure  of  that,  Madame  ;  read  the 
note  again.  He  would  not  come  to  you  for  help  ; 
he  is  not  so  mean  ;  he  has  too  much  pride  ;  "  and 


142  MIRANDA    OF    THE    BALCONY  chap. 

as  Mrs.  Warriner  smiled,  with  perhaps  a  little 
bitterness,  M.  Fournier,  noticing  her  smile,  became 
yet  more  astonishing  and  intricate  in  his  apologies. 
"  He  take  your  money,  oh  yes,  I  know  very 
well,  while  he  is  with  you  ;  but  then  you  get  his 
company  in  exchange.  That  make  you  both  quits, 
eh  ?  But  once  he  has  gone  away,  he  would  not 
come  back  to  you  for  money  or  help  at  all.  He 
has  so  much  pride.  Oh  no  !  He  just  take  it 
from  the  first  person  he  meet,  me  or  anyone  else. 
He  has  so  much  pride ;  besides,  it  would  be 
simpler.  No  !  It  is  I  who  come  to  you.  He 
often  speak  to  me  of  you  —  oh,  but  in  the  highest 
terms  !  And  I  say  to  myself:  That  dear  Ralph, 
he  is  difficult  to  live  with.  He  is  not  a  comfort- 
able friend.  We  know  that,  Mrs.  Warriner  and  I, 
but  we  both  love  him  very  much  —  " 

"No!" 

The  emphatic  interruption  fairly  startled  M. 
Fournier.  Miranda  had  risen  from  her  seat  and 
stood  over  him.  He  would  not  have  believed  that 
so  gentle  a  face  could  have  taken  on  so  vigorous 
an  expression.  He  stammered  a  protest.  Miranda 
repeated  her  denial :  "  No,  no,  no  !  "  she  cried. 
"  Let  us  be  frank  !  " 

She  turned  aside  from  him,  and  leaning  her 
elbows  upon  the  crumbling  parapet  of  the  wall, 
looked  across  the  valley  and  down  the  cliff's  side 
where  one  road  was  cut  in  steep  zigzags,  and  wind- 
ing down  to  the  plain  as  to  the  water's  edge, 
helped  to  complete  the  illusion  that  the  sea  should 
fitly  be  breaking  at  the  base. 

M.  Fournier's  hopes  dwindled  in  the  face  of 


x       MIRANDA    OF    THE    BALCONY  143 

this  uncompromising  denial.  He  had  come  to 
enlist  her  help  ;  he  had  counted  upon  her  affec- 
tions, and  had  boldly  counted,  because  Warriner 
had  so  surely  attracted  his  own.  M.  Fournier  would 
have  been  at  a  loss  to  explain  his  friendship  for 
Warriner,  to  account  for  the  causes  or  the  quali- 
ties which  evoked  it,  but  he  felt  its  strength,  and 
he  now  knew  that  Mrs.  Warriner  had  no  lot  or 
share  in  it. 

He  was  therefore  the  more  surprised  when  she 
turned  back  to  him  with  eyes  which  were  shining 
and  moist,  and  said  very  gently :  "  But  of  course 
I  will  help."  Her  conduct  was  not  at  all  incon- 
sistent, however  much  it  might  appear  so  to  M. 
Fournier.  She  was  acting  upon  the  same  motive 
which  had  induced  her,  the  moment  she  was  aware 
of  Ralph  Warriner's  existence,  to  return  to  Ronda, 
the  one  spot  where  Warriner  would  be  sure  to 
look  for  her  if  he  needed  her,  and  which  had 
subsequently  persuaded  her  to  submit  to  the  black- 
mail of  Major  Wilbraham.  "  Of  course  I  will 
help.     What  can  I  do  ?  " 

M.  Fournier's  eves  narrowed,  his  manner 
became  wary  and  cunning.  "  I  hoped  that  you 
might  perhaps  hit  upon  some  plan,"  he  suggested. 

"  I  ?  "  Miranda  thought  for  a  moment,  then 
she  said :  "  We  must  appeal  to  the  English 
Minister  at  Tangier." 

M.  Fournier  sprang  out  of  his  chair.  "No, 
that  is  the  very  last  thing  we  must  do.  For  what 
should  we  say  ?  That  Mr.  Ralph  Warriner,  who 
was  thought  to  be  dead,  has  just  been  kidnapped 
in  Morocco  ?  " 


144  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY         chap. 

"  No,  but  that  Mr.  Bentham  has,"  she  returned 
quickly". 

M.  Fournier  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  Why 
am  I  here  ? "  he  exclaimed,  stamping  his  foot. 
"  I  ask  you,  why  am  I  here  ?  Saperlipopette ! 
Would  I  have  come  to  you  if  any  so  simple 
remedy  had  been  possible  ?  Suppose  we  go 
politely  to  the  English  Minister  and  ask  him  to 
find  Mr.  Jeremy  Bentham  !  The  Minister  goes 
to  the  Sultan  of  Morocco,  and  after  many  months, 
perhaps  Mr.  Bentham  is  found,  perhaps  he  is  not. 
Suppose  that  he  is  found  and  brought  down  to 
Tangier,- — what  next,  I  beg  you?  There  will 
be  talk  about  Mr.  Bentham,  there  will  be  gentle- 
men everywhere,  behind  bushes,  under  tables, 
everywhere,  so  that  the  great  British  public  may 
know  the  colours  of  the  ties  he  wears,  and  at  last 
be  happy.  His  name  will  be  in  the  papers,  and 
more,  Mrs.  Warriner,  his  portrait  too.  His 
portrait ;  have  you  thought  of  that  ? ' 

"  But  he  might  escape  the  photographers." 

"  Suppose  he  do,  by  a  miracle.  Do  you  think 
there  will  be  no  inquiry  as  to  what  is  Mr.  Ben- 
tham's  business  in  Morocco  ?  Do  you  think  the 
English  Minister  will  not  ask  the  inconvenient 
question  ?  Do  you  think  that  you  can  hide  his 
business,  once  an  inquiry  is  set  on  foot,  in  that 
country  ?  He  might  pass  as  a  tourist,  you  think 
perhaps,  bein  ?  And  any  one  man  has  only  got 
to  give  a  few  dollars  to  some  officer  in  the 
custom-house,  and  he  will  know  that  Mr.  Bentham 
is  smuggling  guns  into  Morocco,  and  selling  them 
to  the  Berbers  of  Bemin  Sooar.    What  then  ?    He 


x       MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY  145 

would  be  taken  for  trial  to  Gibraltar,  where  only 
two  years  ago  he  was  Captain  Warriner." 

Miranda  had  already  heard  enough  from  Wil- 
braham  to  confirm  M.  Fournier's  statement  about 
the  custom-house. 

"  No,"  continued  Fournier,  "  the  risk  is  too 
great.  And  I  call  it  risk ! "  He  hunched  his  shoul- 
ders and  spread  out  his  hand.  "  It  is  a  red-hot 
cert,  as  he  would  say.  His  identity  would  be 
established,  and  he  had  better,  after  all,  be  a 
captive  in  Morocco  than  a  convict  in  England. 
There  is  some  chance  of  an  escape  in  Morocco." 

"  There  is  also  in  Morocco  some  chance  of 
a  —  "  Miranda's  lips  refased  to  speak  the  word. 
M.  Fournier  supplied  it. 

"  Murder  ?  I  do  not  fear  that.  Had  they  in- 
tended murder,  they  would  have  killed  that  night, 
then  and  there,  in  the  Sok  of  Tangier.  There  would 
have  been  no  letter  dropped  three  days  inland." 

Miranda  eagerly  welcomed  the  argument. 
"Yes,  yes,"  she  exclaimed,  and  the  colour  came 
back  to  her  lips.  "  He  is  held  for  ransom  then, 
surely  ? " 

M.  Fournier  shook  his  head.  "  Hardly.  Had 
they  captured  him  for  ransom,  they  would  have 
got  from  him  the  names  of  his  friends.  They 
would  have  used  measures,"  said  he,  with  some 
emphasis  upon  the  word,  at  which  Miranda  shiv- 
ered ;  "  sure  measures  to  get  the  names,  and 
Warriner  would  have  given  mine.  They  would 
have  come  to  me  for  the  ransom,  and  I  should 
have  given  it  —  if  it  was  everything  I  had  —  and 
Warriner  would  be  safe  by  now." 


146  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY         chap. 

Fournier  was  aware  that  Miranda  looked  curi- 
ously and  even  with  a  sort  of  compunction  towards 
him,  though  he  did  not  understand  the  reason  of 
her  look.  To  him  it  was  the  most  natural, 
simple  thing  in  the  world  that  he  should  care  for 
Warriner. 

"  No,  it  is  not  ransom,"  and  he  threw  a  cautious 
glance  this  way  and  that,  and  then,  even  in  that 
secret  spot,  continued  in  a  whisper :  "  Warriner 
has  enemies,  enemies  of  his  own  race.  I  do  not 
wonder  at  it,"  he  explained  impartially.  "  He 
treats  me,  yes,  even  me,  who  am  his  one  friend, 
as  though  —  well,  his  own  phrase  is  the  best.  He 
wipes  the  floor  with  me.  He  has  promised  to  do 
it  many  times,  and  many  times  he  has  done  it  too. 
No  doubt  he  has  enemies,  and  they  have  arranged 
his  capture." 

"Why?" 

"  Suppose  they  sell  him  for  a  slave,  a  long  way 
off  and  a  long  way  inland.  It  would  not  be 
pleasant  at  all,  and  most  of  all  unpleasant  to  him, 
for  he  is  particular.  Of  course  you  know  that, 
Mrs.  Warriner.  He  likes  his  linen  very  clean  and 
fine.  He  would  not  enjoy  being  a  slave,  yet  he 
could  not  appeal  to  his  Government,  even  if  he 
got  the  chance." 

"Oh,  don't,  please!"  cried  Miranda.  That 
intimate  detail  about  Ralph's  habits  brought  home 
to  her  most  convincingly  his  present  plight.  "  But 
what  enemies  ?  '  she  asked  in  a  moment  or  two. 
"  Is  it  a  guess  of  yours,  or  do  you  know  of  any  ? ' 

M.  Fournier  hitched  his  chair  nearer.  His 
voice  became  yet  more  confidential. 


x       MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY  147 

"  Three  months  ago  an  Englishman  came  to 
my  shop." 

"  Three  months  ago  ?  "  interrupted  Miranda. 
"  He  leaned  over  your  counter  and  he  said, '  How 
did  vou  work  that  little  affair  on  Rosevear,  and 
how's  my  dear  friend,  Ralph  Warriner  ? '  " 

"  Ah,  you  know  him  !  "  cried  Fournier,  spring- 
ing up  in  excitement. 

"  Yes,  and  he  has  nothing  to  do  with  Ralph's 
capture,"  replied  Miranda.  "  He  only  went  that 
one  time  to  Tangier."  M.  Fournier  resumed  his 
seat,  and  she  briefly  explained  to  the  Belgian  the 
reason  and  the  consequence  of  Wilbraham's  visit. 
Fournier's  face  fell  as  he  listened.  He  had  hoped 
that  the  necessary  clue  had  been  discovered,  and 
when  Miranda  finished  he  sat  silent  in  a  glum 
despair.     After  a  little  his  face  lightened. 

"  Only  once  vou  say  he  came  to  Tangier,  this 
man  you  speak  of — only  once  ? "  he  asked  eagerly, 
stretching  out  his  hand. 

"Onlv  the  once." 

"He  was  not  there  earlier  in  the  year?  He 
was  not  there  in  May  ?  Think  carefully.  Be 
very  sure  !  " 

Mrs.  Warriner  reflected  for  a  second.  "  I  am 
sure  he  was  not,"  she  replied.  "  He  travelled  by 
train  from  Monte  Carlo  to  Marseilles  in  May. 
From  Marseilles  he  came  directly  by  boat  to 
England." 

"  Good,"  said  M.  Fournier.  He  sat  forward  in 
his  chair  and  rubbed  the  palms  of  his  hands  to- 
gether. "  Now  listen  !  There  was  another 
Englishman  who  came  in  May.      He  came  to  my 


148  MIRANDA    OF    THE    BALCONT  chap. 

shop,  though  the  shutter  was  on  the  window  and 
the  shop  closed." 

"  Who  was  he  ?  "   asked  Mrs.  Warriner. 

"  I  cannot  guess." 

"  Tell  me  what  he  was  like." 

"  Ah  !  there's  the  trouble.  Neither  of  us  saw 
him.  Warriner  heard  his  voice,  that  is  all.  And 
a  voice  ?  There  is  no  clue  more  deceptive.  The 
one  thing  Warriner  is  sure  of  is  that  he  had  never 
heard  the  voice  before." 

"  But  what  was  it  that  he  heard  ?  " 

"  I  tell  you.  Warriner  came  down  to  Tangier 
that  very  morning  from  the  country.  He  travelled 
as  always  in  the  dress  of  a  Moor,  for  he  speaks 
their  tongues,  no  Moor  better,  and  our  little  busi- 
ness, you  understand,  needs  secrecy.  I  closed  my 
shop,  shuttered  the  window,  locked  the  door. 
Warriner  told  me  he  had  arranged  with  the  sheikhs 
of  the  Berber  tribes  to  deliver  so  many  Win- 
chesters, so  much  ammunition,  within  a  certain 
period.  The  period  was  short ;  Warriner's  boat, 
the  Ten  Brothers,  was  waiting  at  Tarifa.  I  leave 
him  to  change  his  dress  and  shave  his  beard,  while 
I  go  down  to  the  harbour  and  hire  a  felucca  to  put 
him  over  to  Tarifa.  But  Warriner  forgot  to  lock 
the  door  behind  me.  In  a  minute  or  two  he  hear 
a  hand  scrape  softly,  oh  so  softly,  up  the  door 
towards  the  latch.  For  a  second  he  stood,  with 
the  razor  in  his  hand  like  this,"  and  the  Belgian, 
in  the  absorption  of  his  narrative  began  to  act  the 
scene,  "looking  at  the  latch,  waiting  for  it  to  rise, 
and  listening.  Then  he  remembered  that  he  had 
not  locked  the  door.    He  crept  on  tip-toe  towards 


x       MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY  149 

it ;  just  as  he  reached  it  he  heard  a  loud  English 
voice  shout  to  him  violently,  c  Look  out !  '  That 
phrase  is  a  menace,  eh  ?  "  he  stopped  to  ask. 

"  It  might  be.  It  would  more  naturally  be  a 
warning,"  said    Mrs.  Warriner. 

"In  either  case  it  means  an  enemy.  As  he 
shouted  Warriner's  hand  was  already  on  the  key. 
Warriner  turn  the  lock,  and  immediately  the 
Englishman  batter  and  knock  at  the  door,  but  he 
could  not  get  in,  and  after  a  little  he  went  away. 
Ah  !  how  often  we  have  wondered  who  that  man 
was,  and  why  he  shouted  out  his  threat  and  tried 
to  force  the  door.  To  know  that  you  have  one 
enemy  at  your  heels,  but  you  cannot  pick  him  out 
because  you  have  not  seen  his  face  !  That  frightens 
me,  Madame  Warriner.  I  am  a  coward,  and  it  is 
no  wonder  that  it  frightens  me."  The  perspir- 
ation broke  out  on  Fournier's  forehead  as  he  made 
his  frank  confession.  "  But  it  frightens  Warriner 
too,  who  is  no  coward.  Often  and  often  have  I 
seen  him  lift  up  a  finger,  so,"  he  suited  the  action 
to  the  word,  "  when  a  new  voice  speak  within  his 
hearing,  and  listen,  listen,  listen,  to  make  sure 
whether  that  was  the  voice  which  shouted  through 
the  door  or  no.  But  a  voice  !  You  cannot  be 
certain  you  recognise  it,  unless  you  can  recognise 
also  the  face  of  the  man  to  whom  it  belongs.  A 
singer's  voice,  yes  !  Perhaps  you  might  know  that 
again  though  you  heard  it  for  the  first  time  blind- 
fold.   Buta  voice  that  merely  speaks  or  shouts,  no !  " 

M.  Fournier  picked  up  his  hat  and  rose  from  his 
chair.  Miranda  rose  too,  and  they  stood  face  to 
face  with  one  another  under  the  awning. 


150  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY  chap. 

"  So  I  ask  you  this.  Will  you  help  to  recover 
your  husband  ?  "  he  asked,  with  a  simplicity  of 
appeal  which  went  home  to  Miranda  all  the  more, 
because  it  did  not  presume  to  claim  her  help. 
"  Either  a  search  must  be  made  privately  through 
Morocco  until  he  is  found  and  bought,  and  such  a 
search  seems  hopeless  ;  or  the  unknown  man  who 
shouted  through  the  door  must  be  discovered. 
That  is  the  simplest  way.  For  this  I  do  believe  " 
—  and  he  expressed  his  belief  with  a  great  solemnity 
and  conviction  which  sank  very  memorably  into 
Miranda's  mind  —  "I  believe  that  if  we  lay  our 
hands  upon  that  man  we  shall  lay  our  hands  also 
upon  the  means  to  rescue  Warriner  from  his 
servitude." 

"  Bat  how  can  I  help  ?  I  do  not  know  the  man 
who  shouted  through  the  door."  The  words  were 
flung  at  Fournier  in  a  passion  of  impotence.  "  You 
say  you  need  no  money.  I  cannot  scour  Morocco. 
How  can  a  woman  help  ?  " 

M.  Fournier  hesitated.  He  took  off  his  glasses. 
He  found  it  easier  to  speak  the  matter  of  his 
thoughts  when  he  saw  her  face  dimly,  and  could 
not  take  note  of  its  expressions. 

"  A  woman  very  often  has  friends,"  he  hinted. 

He  saw  her  face  grow  rosy  and  then  pale. 

"  Yes,  but  I  have  lost  the  glove,"  she  cried 
impulsively,  and  as  she  turned  towards  the  per- 
plexed M.  Fournier,  the  blood  rushed  back  into 
her  cheeks.  "  I  mean,"  she  stammered,  and  broke 
off  suddenly  into  a  question  which  was  at  once  an 
accusation  and  a  challenge. 

"  And  men,  have  they  no  friends  ? " 


x       MIRANDA    OF    THE    BALCONY  151 

Fournier  did  not  affect  to  misunderstand  her. 

"  Here  and  there,  perhaps  a  man  has  one  friend 
who  will  deliberately  risk  much,  even  life,  for  him, 
but  in  those  cases  he  has  only  one  such  friend. 
Warriner  has  one,  but  alas  !  that  one  friend  is  myself. 
Already,  it  is  true,  I  have  risked  my  life  for  him  at 
the  Scillies,  and  I  would  gladly  lose  it  for  him  now, 
if  I  could  only  lose  it  without  foreknowledge.  But 
what  can  I  do  ?  A  little  fat  Belgian  bourgeois,  of 
middle  age,  who  speaks  no  language  correctly  but 
his  own,  and  has  only  a  few  poor  words  of  Arabic, 
a  man  of  no  strength,  and,  Madame,  a  coward, 
—  what  could  I  do  inland  in  Morocco?'  He 
made  no  parade  of  humility  as  he  described  himself; 
he  used  the  simple,  straightforward  tone  of  one  who 
advances  cogent  arguments.  Miranda  was  moved 
by  an  impulse  to  hold  out  her  hand  to  him. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  she  said. 

M.  Fournier  was  encouraged  to  continue  his 
plea. 

"  But  to  possess  sufficient  friends  so  that  one 
may  choose  the  adequate  instrument,  —  ah,  that  is 
the  privilege  of  women  ! '  He  added  timidly, 
"  Of  women  who  have  youth  and  beauty,"  but  in 
a  voice  so  low  that  the  words  hardly  reached 
Miranda's  ears,  and  their  significance  was  not 
understood  by  her  at  all. 

"I  have  not  many  friends,"  she  returned  frankly, 
"  but  I  have  one  who  would  be  adequate.  I  cannot 
tell  whether  I  can  bring  myself  to — I  mean  I  cannot 
tell  whether  he  could  go;  he  has  duties.  It  is  asking 
much  to  ask  any  man  to  set  out  into  Morocco  on 
such  an  errand.     However,  I  must  think  of  it;  I 


152  MIRANDA    OF   THE    BALCONY         chap. 

could  at  all  events  send  for  him  and  tell  him  of 
my  husband  —  " 

M.  Fournier  interposed  quickly  :  "  He  knows 
nothing  of  Ralph  Warriner  ?  " 

"  He  believes  mv  husband  dead." 

J 

"  Then  why  should  he  not  continue  to  believe 
your  husband  dead  ?  "  asked  Fournier,  with  a  sly 
cunning.  "  It  is  Mr.  Jeremy  Bentham  he  goes 
out  to  find,  — a  friend  of  yours — a  relation  perhaps 
—  is  it  not  so  ?  We  can  keep  Ralph  Warriner 
dead  for  a  while  longer." 

The  little  man's  intention  was  becoming  obvious. 

"  Why  ?  "  asked  Miranda,  sharply. 

"  It  would  be  more  prudent." 

"  I  don't  understand." 

Her  voice  was  cold  and  dangerous. 

"  A  man  has  one  friend,  a  woman  many,"  ex- 
plained M.  Fournier  ;  "  but  there  are  compensa- 
tions for  the  man  in  that  his  friend  will  serve  him 
for  friendship's  sake.  But  a  man  will  not  serve  a 
woman  for  friendship's  sake.  Not  if  he  serve  her 
well." 

M.  Fournier  was  prepared  for  an  outburst  of 
indignation  ;  he  was  not  prepared  for  the  expres- 
sion which  came  over  Miranda's  face,  and  he  could 
not  understand  it.  She  looked  at  him  fixedly  and, 
as  it  seemed,  in  consternation.  "  That  is  not  true," 
she  said  ;  "  it  is  not  true.  Surely,  surely  it  cannot 
be  true." 

M.  Fournier  made  no  answer.  She  turned  away 
from  him  and  walked  along  the  flagged  pathway, 
turned  at  the  end  and  came  slowly  back.  "A 
man  will  only  serve  a  woman  if  he  cares  for  her  ? ' 


x       MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY  153 

M.  Fournier  bowed. 

"  And  men  can  be  made  to  care  ? " 

M.  Fournier  smiled. 

"  But  it  needs  time  ?  " 

M.  Fournier  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  spread 
out  his  hands. 

"  And  it  needs  tricks  ?  " 

M.  Fournier  made  a  pun. 

"  Nature,  Madame,  has  put  the  tricks  in  your 
hand." 

Miranda  nodded  her  head  once  or  twice,  and 
made  a  remark  which  M.  Fournier  was  at  a  loss 
to  apply.  "  The  old  question,"  said  she,  "  and 
the  old  answer ; "  and  at  once  an  irrational  anger 
flamed  up  within  her,  anger  with  M.  Fournier  for 
posing  the  question  again,  anger  with  herself  for 
her  perplexity,  anger  even  against  Charnock,  be- 
cause he  did  not  magically  appear  in  the  garden 
and  answer  the  question  and  dissolve  her  per- 
plexity. But  M.  Fournier  alone  was  in  the  garden 
with  her,  and  the  full  force  of  her  anger  broke  upon 
him.  "  I  am  to  throw  out  my  net,"  she  cried, 
"  and  catch  my  friend  !  I  am  to  trick  him,  to  lie 
to  him,  and  to  earn  with  the  lie  the  use  of  his  life 
and  his  brains  and  his  time  and  his  manhood. 
How  dare  you  come  to  me  with  such  a  thought  ? 
A  coward's  thought  indeed  !  " 

"The  thought  of  a  man  who  loves  his  friend," 
said  M.  Fournier,  stubbornly  ;  and  he  continued 
without  any  sarcasm  :  "  Your  sentiments,  Madame 
Warriner,  are  most  correct ;  they  do  you  honour, 
but  I  love  my  friend." 

To  his  surprise  Miranda  suddenly  smiled  at  him, 


154  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY      chap,  x 

and  then  laughed.  "  I  was  never  treated  with  such 
absolute  disregard  in  all  my  life,"  she  said.  "  No, 
don't  apologise,  I  like  you  for  it." 

"  Then  you  will  do  as  I  propose  ?  "  he  exclaimed. 

Miranda  grew  serious.  "  I  cannot.  If  I  ask 
my  friend  to  go  upon  this  errand,  he  must  know 
before  he  goes  who  it  is  I  ask  him  to  bring  back. 
I  must  think  what  can  be  done.  You  will  go 
back  to  Tangier ;  perhaps  you  may  find  Ralph 
there  when  you  return.  I  will  write  to  you  at 
1  angler. 

M.  Fournier  had  plainly  no  opinion  of  her  plan; 
but  he  saw  that  he  could  not  dissuade  her.  He 
took  the  hand  which  she  held  out  to  him,  and 
returned  sorrowfully  through  the  patio  to  the 
street. 


CHAPTER   XI 

IN  WHICH  MIRANDA  ADOPTS  A  NEW  LINE  OF 
CONDUCT  AND  THE  MAJOR  EXPRESSES  SOME 
DISCONTENT 

Miranda  was  left  with  two  convictions,  of 
which  she  was  very  certain.  Somehow,  some- 
whither,  help  must  be  sent  to  Ralph  ;  and  if  Char- 
nock  carried  the  help,  he  must  know  why  and  for 
whom  before  he  went. 

She  stood  in  the  patio  until  the  outer  door 
closed  behind  M.  Fournier.  A  local  newspaper 
lying  upon  a  wicker  chair  caught  her  eye,  and 
harassed  and  unresolved  as  she  was,  she  turned 
eagerly  for  rest  to  its  commonplaces.  She  read 
an  anecdote  about  an  unknown  politician,  and  a 
summary  of  Don  Carlos's  prospects,  with  extreme 
care  and  concentration ;  for  she  knew  that  her 
perplexities  lay  in  wait  for  her  behind  the  screen 
of  the  news  sheet,  and  she  was  very  tired. 

She  turned  over  the  sheet,  and  in  spite  of  herself, 
began  to  feel  at  a  third  idea.  She  applied  herself 
consequently  to  the  first  paragraph  which  met  her 
eye,  and  read  it  over  with  great  speed,  perhaps  ten 

'55 


156  MIRANDA    OF    THE    BALCONY  chap. 

times.  But  the  words  she  read  were  not  the 
printed  words.     They  were  these  :  — 

"  Send  me  the  glove,  and  when  I  come  up  to 
Ronda,  it  will  be  understood  without  a  word  why 
I  have  come.  There  will  be  no  need  for  me  to 
speak  at  all,  and  you  will  only  have  to  tell  me  the 
particular  thing  that  wants  doing." 

And  the  idea  became  distinct.  She  could  choose 
her  own  time  for  telling  Charnock  the  particular 
thing  which  wanted  doing.  He  would  ask  no 
questions ;  he  had  indeed  hit  upon  that  device  of 
the  glove  to  spare  her;  she  could  send  the  glove, 
and  she  could  tell  him  after  he  had  come  in  answer, 
but  at  her  own  discretion,  why  she  had  sent  it. 
Therefore  she  had  time  —  she  had  time. 

She  turned  to  her  paragraph  again,  read  it  with 
comprehension,  and  from  the  paragraph  her  trouble 
sprang  at  her  and  caught  her  by  the  heart.  For 
what  she  read  was  the  account  of  the  opening  of 
the  branch  line  to  Algeciras.  Charnock's  work 
was  done,  then  ;  he  would  be  leaving  Algeciras. 
Even  at  that  moment  her  first  feeling  was  one  of 
approaching  loneliness,  so  closely  had  the  man 
crept  into  her  thoughts.  She  took  a  step  towards 
her  parlour,  stopped,  stood  for  a  moment  irreso- 
lute, ran  up  the  winding  iron  staircase  to  the 
landing  half-way  up  the  patio,  and  fetched  a  new 
long  white  kid  glove  from  her  dressing-room. 
She  moulded  it  upon  her  hand,  soiled  it  by  a  ten 
minutes'  wearing,  ripped  it  across  the  palm,  and 
sealed  it  up  in  an  envelope. 

Jane  Holt  came  into  the  patio  while  Miranda 
was  still  writing  the  address. 


MIRANDA    OF    THE    BALCONY  157 

"What's  that?"  she  asked. 

"A  sham,  Jane,  a  sham,"  said  Miranda,  in  a 
queer,  unsteady  voice;  "a  trick,  the  first  of 
them." 

Jane  Holt  shook  her  head.  "  You  are  very 
strange,  Miranda,"  but  Miranda  picked  up  the 
envelope,  and  putting  on  her  hat  hurried  to  the 
post-office.  As  she  crossed  the  bridge  over  the 
Tajo  a  man  barred  her  way.  She  tried  to  pass 
him  ;  he  moved  again  in  front  of  her,  and  she 
saw  that  the  man  was  Wilbraham. 

"  I  wish  to  speak  to  you." 

"  In  ten  minutes,"  said  she,  "  in  the  Alameda. 
I  have  a  letter  to  post." 

"  The  letter  can  wait,"  said  he. 

"  If  it  did,  it  would  never  be  posted,"  said  she, 
and  she  hurried  past  him. 

The  Major  followed  her  with  inquisitive  eyes  ; 
he  felt  a  certain  admiration  for  her  buoyant  walk, 
her  tall  slight  figure,  which  a  white  muslin  dress 
with  a  touch  of  colour  at  the  waist  so  well  set 
off,  and  for  the  pose  of  her  head  under  the  wide 
straw  hat.  But  business  instincts  prevailed  over 
his  admiration.      He  lit  a  cigarette. 

"  What  is  the  large  sealed  letter  which  must  be 
posted  at  once,  or  it  will  never  be  posted  at  all  ?  " 
he  asked  himself.  "  Why  must  it  be  posted  at 
once  r 

He  strolled  to  the  Alameda  unable  to  find  an 
answer.  In  the  Alameda,  at  the  bench  before  the 
railings,  Miranda  was  waiting  for  him.  She  rose 
at  once  to  meet  him. 

"  Why  have  you  come  ? "  she  asked.    "  It  is  not 


158  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY         chap. 

quarter-day.     We  made  our  bargain.     I  have  kept 
my  part  of  it." 

"  Yes,"  said  he.  "  But  it  was  not  a  good  bar- 
gain for  me.  I  underrated  my  necessities.  I 
overrated  my  taste  for  a  quiet  life." 

"  And  the  Horace  ? "  she  asked  scornfully. 
"  One  of  the  few  things  worth  doing,  was  it 
not?" 

Wilbraham  flushed  angrily. 

"  So  it  is,"  he  said.  "  But  I  find  it  difficult  to 
settle  down.  I  need,  in  fact,  —  do  we  not  all  need 
them?  —  intervals  of  relaxation."  He  spoke  un- 
easily ;  he  looked  even  more  worn  and  tired  than 
when  he  first  came  to  Ronda.  Miranda  under- 
stood that  here  indeed  was  the  real  tragedy  of 
the  man's  life. 

"  All  these  years,  fifteen  years,"  she  said,  "  you 
have  dreamed  of  doing  sooner  or  later  this  one 
thing.  You  have  played  with  the  dream.  You 
have  kept  your  self-respect  by  means  of  it.  It 
has  set  you  apart  from  your  companions.  And 
now,  when  the  opportunity  comes,  you  find  that 
you  were  only  after  all  on  the  level  of  your  com- 
panions, lower,  perhaps  a  trifle  lower,  by  this  trifle 
of  delusion.     For  you  cannot  do  the  work." 

Wilbraham  did  not  resent  the  speech,  which 
was  uttered  without  reproach  or  accusation,  but 
in  the  tone  of  one  who  notes  a  fact  which  should 
have  been  foreseen. 

"  A  topping  fellow  Horace,  of  course,"  Wil- 
braham began. 

"  And  I  trusted  you  to  do  it,"  she  said  suddenly, 
and  looked  at  him  for  a  moment  full  in  the  face, 


xi  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONT  159 

not  angrily,  but  with  a  queer  sort  of  interest  in  the 
mistake  she  had  made.  Then  she  turned  from  him 
and  walked  away. 

The  Major  followed  quickly, but  before  he  could 
come  up  with  her  she  turned  round  on  him. 

"  Follow  me  for  one  other  step,"  she  said,  "  and 
I  call  that  guardia  twenty  yards  away." 

She  meant  to  do  it,  too  ;  this  was  unmistak- 
able. She  resumed  her  walk,  and  the  Major 
thought  it  prudent  to  remain  where  he  was.  He 
remained  in  fact  for  some  time  on  that  spot, 
whistling  softlv  to  himself.  Wilbraham's  menaces 
had  sunk  to  a  complete  insignificance  in  Miranda's 
mind,  since  she  had  been  confronted  with  the 
actual  positive  disaster  which  had  befallen  Ralph 
Warriner.  Wilbraham,  however,  was  not  in  a 
position  to  trace  Miranda's  sudden  audacity  to  its 
true  source.  He  fell  therefore,  and  not  unnaturally, 
into  the  error  of  imagining  that  she  drew  her 
courage  to  refuse  his  demands  from  some  new  and 
external  support.  His  thoughts  went  back  to  the 
letter  which  must  be  posted  at  once.  Had  that 
letter  anything  to  do  with  that  support  ?  Had  it 
anything  to  do  with  her  refusal  ? 

Wilbraham  asked  himself  these  questions  with 
considerable  uneasiness,  for  after  all  the  seven 
hundred  per  annum  was  not  so  absolutely  assured. 
He  came  to  the  conclusion  that  it  would  be  wise 
to  transfer  his  quarters  from  Tarifa  to  Ronda. 


CHAPTER   XII 

THE    HERO,    LIKE    ALL    HEROES,    FINDS     HIMSELF    IN 

A    FOG 

At  eight  o'clock  the  next  morning  Charnock 
was  crushing  the  remainder  of  his  clothes  into  a 
portmanteau.  A  couple  of  corded  trunks  stood 
ready  for  the  porters,  while  the  manager  of  the 
line  sat  in  the  window  overlooking  Algeciras  Bay, 
and  gave  him  gratuitous  advice  as  to  totally 
different  and  very  superior  methods  of  packing. 

The  manager  suddenly  rose  to  his  feet. 

"  Here's  the  P.  and  O.  coming  into  the  bay," 
he  said.  "  Man,  but  you  have  very  little  time. 
I'm  thinking  you'll  miss  it." 

Charnock  raised  a  flushed  face  from  his  port- 
manteau, and  so  wasted  a  few  seconds.  He  made 
no  effort  to  catch  them  up. 

"  I'm  thinking,  too,  you  would  not  be  very 
sorry  to  miss  it,"  continued  the  manager,  sagely. 
"  Though  what  charms  you  can  discover  in  Alge- 
ciras, it's  beyond  my  powers  to  comprehend." 

Charnock  did  not  controvert  or  explain  the 
manager's  supposition.  He  continued  to  pack, 
but  perhaps  a  trifle  more  slowly  than  before. 

1 60 


chap,  xii     MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY  161 

"  You  have  got  my  address,  Macdonald  ? ,:  he 
said.     "  You  won't  lose  it,  will  you  ?  ' 

He  shut  up  the  portmanteau  and  knelt  upon  it. 

"  You  will  forward  everything  that  comes  — 
everything  without  fail  ?  "  he  insisted. 

"  In  all  human  probability,"  returned  Mac- 
donald, "  I  will  forward  nothing  at  all.  For  I 
am  thinking  you  will  lose  the  boat." 

There  was  a  knock  on  the  door ;  Charnock's 
servant  brought  in  a  letter.  The  letter  lay  upon 
its  face,  and  the  sealed  back  of  the  envelope  had 
an  official  look. 

"  Open  it,  will  you,  Macdonald  ? "  said  Charnock, 
as  he  fastened  the  straps.  "  Well,  what's  it  about  ? ' 

"I  cannot  tell.  It's  written  in  a  dialect  I  do 
not  understand,"  said  the  manager,  gravely,  and 
Charnock,  turning  about,  saw  that  he  dangled  and 
deliberated  upon  a  long  white  kid  glove. 

Charnock  jumped  up  and  snatched  it  away. 

"  It's  a  female's,"  said  the  manager,  sagely. 

"  It's  a  woman's,"  returned  Charnock,  with 
indignation. 

"  You  are  very  young,"  observed  Macdonald. 
"And  I'll  point  out  to  you  that  you  have  torn 
your  letter." 

Charnock  was  turning  the  glove  over,  and 
showed  the  palm  at  that  moment.  He  smiled, 
but  made  no  answer.  He  folded  the  glove, 
wrapped  it  in  its  envelope,  took  it  out  again,  and 
smoothed  its  creases.  Then  he  folded  it  once 
more,  held  it  for  a  little  balanced  on  his  hand,  and 
finally  replaced  it  in  the  envelope  and  hid  the 
envelope  in  his  pocket. 


M 


1 62  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONT        chap. 

"  Man,  but  you  are  very  young,"  remarked 
Macdonald,  "  and  I'm  thinking  that  you'll  lose  —  " 

"  There's  a  train  to  Ronda  pretty  soon  ? " 
interrupted  Charnock. 

"  There  is,"  replied  Macdonald,  drily,  "  and  I'll 
be  particular  to  mind  your  address,  and  forward 
everything  that  comes.  Eh,  but  you  have  paid 
your  passage  on  the  P.  and  O." 

Charnock,  in  spite  of  that  argument,  took  his 
seat  in  the  train  for  Ronda,  and  travelled  up 
through  the  forest  of  cork  trees  whose  foliage 
split  the  sunshine,  making  here  a  shade,  there  an 
alley  of  light.  The  foresters  were  at  work  strip- 
ping the  trunks  of  their  bark,  and  Charnock  was 
in  a  mood  to  make  parables  of  the  world,  so  long 
as  they  fitted  in  with  and  exemplified  his  own 
particular  purposes  and  plans.  He  himself  was  a 
forester,  and  the  rough  bark  he  was  stripping  was 
Miranda's  distress,  so  it  is  to  be  supposed  that  the 
bare  tree-trunk  was  Miranda  herself;  and,  to  be 
sure,  what  simile  could  be  more  elegant  ? 

Charnock's  dominant  feeling,  indeed,  was  one 
of  elation.  The  message  of  his  mirror  was  being 
fulfilled.  He  had  the  glove  in  his  pocket  to  as- 
sure him  of  that,  and  the  feel  of  the  glove,  of  its 
delicate  kid  between  his  strong  fingers,  pleased  him 
beyond  measure.  For  it  seemed  appropriate  and 
expressive  of  her,  and  he  hoped  that  the  strength 
of  his  fingers  was  expressive  of  himself.  But 
beyond  that,  it  was  a  call,  a  challenge  to  his 
chivalry,  which  up  till  now,  through  all  his  years, 
had  never  once  been  called  upon  and  challenged ; 
and  therein  lay  the  true  cause  of  his  elation. 


xii  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY  163 

The  train  swept  out  of  the  cork  forest,  and  the 
great  grass  slopes  stretched  upwards  at  the  side  of 
the  track,  dotted  with  white  villages,  seamed  with 
rocks.  Charnock  fell  to  marvelling  at  the  apt 
moment  of  the  summons.  Just  when  his  work 
was  done,  when  his  mind  and  his  body  were  free, 
the  glove  had  come  to  him.  If  it  had  come  by  a 
later  post  on  that  same  day,  he  would  have  been 
on  his  way  to  England.  But  it  had  not ;  it  had 
come  confederate  with  the  hour  of  its  coming. 

The  train  passed  into  the  gorge  of  tunnels, 
climbing  towards  Ronda.  He  was  not  forgetful 
that  he  was  summoned  to  help  Miranda  out  of  a 
danger  perhaps,  certainly  out  of  a  great  misfortune. 
But  he  had  never  had  a  doubt  that  the  misfortune 
from  some  quarter,  and  at  some  time,  would  fall. 
She  had  allowed  him  on  the  balcony  in  St.  James's 
Park  to  understand  that  she  herself  expected  it. 
He  knew,  too,  that  it  must  be  some  quite  unusual 
misfortune.  For  had  she  not  herself  said,  with  a 
complete  comprehension  of  what  she  said,  "  If  I 
have  troubles  I  must  fight  them  through  myself"  ? 
He  had  been  prepared  then  for  the  troubles,  and  he 
was  rejoiced  that  after  all  they  were  of  a  kind 
wherein  his  service  could  be  of  use. 

At  the  head  of  the  gorge  he  caught  his  first  view 
of  Ronda,  balanced  aloft  upon  its  dark  pinnacle  of 
rock.    It  was  mid-day,  and  the  sun  tinged  with  gold 
the  white    Spanish    houses    and    the    old    browr 
mansions  of  the  Moors  ;  and  over  all  was  a  hi 
arch  of  sky,  brilliant  and  cloudless.     At  that  (1i 
tance  and  in  that  clear   light,  Ronda  seemed  < 
piece  of  ivory,  exquisitely  carved  and  tinted,  and 


164  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY  chap. 

then  exquisitely  mounted  on  a  black  pedestal. 
Charnock  was  not  troubled  with  any  of  Lady 
Donnisthorpe's  perplexities  as  to  why  Miranda 
persisted  in  making  that  town  her  home.  To  him 
it  seemed  the  only  place  where  she  could  live,  since 
it  alone  could  fitly  enshrine  her. 

The  train  wound  up  the  incline  at  the  back  of 
the  town  and  steamed  into  the  station.  Charnock 
drove  thence  to  the  hotel  in  the  square  near  the 
bull-ring,  lunched,  and  asked  his  way  to  Mrs. 
Warriner's  house.  He  stood  for  a  while  looking 
at  the  blank  yellow  wall  which  gave  on  to  the 
street,  and  the  heavy  door  of  walnut  wood. 

For  the  first  time  he  began  to  ponder  what  was 
the  nature  of  the  peril  in  which  Miranda  stood. 
His  speculations  were  of  no  particular  value,  but 
the  fact  that  he  speculated  at  this  spot,  opposite 
the  house,  opposite  the  door,  was.  For,  quite  un- 
consciously, his  eyes  took  an  impression  of  the 
geometrical  arrangement  of  the  copper  nails  with 
which  it  was  encrusted,  or  rather  sought  to  take 
such  an  impression.  For  the  geometrical  figures 
were  so  intricate  in  their  involutions  that  the 
eyes  were  continually  baffled  and  continually  pro- 
voked. Charnock  was  thus  absently  searching 
for  the  key  to  their  inter-twistings  when  he  walked 
across  the  road  and  knocked.  He  was  conducted 
through  the  patio.  He  was  shown  into  the  small 
dark-panelled  parlour  which  overlooked  the  valley. 
The  door  was  closed  upon  him  ;  the  room  was 
empty.  A  book  lay  open  upon  the  table  before 
the  window.  Charnock  stood  in  front  of  this  table 
looking  out  of  the  window  across  to  the  sierras  ;  so 


xii  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY  165 

that  the  book  was  just  beneath  his  nose.  He  had 
but  to  drop  his  eyes  and  he  would  have  read  the 
title,  and  known  the  subject-matter,  of  the  book, 
and  perhaps  taken  note  of  some  pencil  lines  scored 
in  the  margin  against  a  passage  here  and  there,  for 
the  book  had  been  much  in  Miranda's  hands  these 
last  few  days.  But  he  did  not,  for  he  heard  a  light 
step  cross  the  patio  outside  and  pause  on  the 
threshold  of  the  door. 

Charnock  turned  expectantly  away  from  the 
table.  The  door,  however,  did  not  open,  nor  on 
the  other  hand  were  the  footsteps  heard  to  retreat. 
A  woman  then  was  standing,  quite  silent  and  quite 
motionless,  on  the  other  side  of  that  shut  door;  and 
that  woman,  no  doubt,  was  Miranda.  Charnock 
was  puzzled  ;  he,  too,  stood  silent  and  motion- 
less, looking  towards  the  door  and  wondering  why 
she  paused  there  and  in  what  attitude  she  stood. 
For  the  seconds  passed,  and  there  must  have  been 
a  lapse  of  quite  two  minutes  between  the  moment 
when  the  footsteps  ceased  and  the  moment  when 
the  door  was  flung  open. 

For  the  door  was  flung  open,  noisily,  violently, 
and  with  a  great  bustle  of  petticoats  an  unknown 
woman  danced  into  the  room  humming  a  tune. 
She  stopped  with  all  the  signs  of  amazement  when 
she  saw  Charnock.  "  Oh  !"  she  exclaimed,  "  why 
didn't  they  tell  me  ?  "  She  cast  backwards  over 
her  shoulder  that  glance  of  the  startled  fawn  which 
befits  a  solitary  maid  in  the  presence  of  a  devouring 
man.  Then  she  advanced  timidly,  lowered  her 
eves,  and  said:  "So  you  have  come  to  Ronda, 
then  ?  " 


1 66  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY         chap. 

This  unknown  woman  had  paused  outside  the 
door,  yet  she  had  swung  into  the  room  as  though  in  a 
great  hurry,  and  had  been  much  surprised  to  see  her 
visitor.  Charnock  was  perplexed.  Moreover,  the 
unknown  woman  wore  the  semblance  of  Miranda. 
She  was  dressed  in  a  white  frock  very  elaborate  with 
lace,  he  noticed  ;  there  was  a  shimmer  of  satin  at  her 
throat  and  waist,  and  to  him  who  had  not  seen  her 
for  these  months  past,  and  who  had  thought  of  her 
as  of  one  draped  in  black,  —  since  thus  only  he  had 
seen  her,  —  she  gleamed  against  the  dark  panels 
of  the  room,  silvered  and  wonderful. 

"  So  you  have  come  to  Ronda  ?  "  said  she. 

"  Of  course." 

She  held  out  her  hand  with  a  gingerly  manner 
of  timidity,  and  pressed  his  fingers  when  they 
touched  hers, as  though  she  could  not  help  herself, 
and  then  hastily  drew  her  hand  away,  as  if  she 
was  ashamed  and  alarmed  at  her  forwardness. 
Charnock  could  not  but  remember  a  frank,  honest 
hand-clasp,  with  which  she  had  bidden  him  good- 
bye in  London. 

"  Is  this  your  first  visit  to  Ronda  ?  "  she  asked. 

"Yes." 

"  Sure  ?"  She  looked  at  him  with  her  eyebrows 
raised  and  an  arch  glance  of  provocation.  "  Sure 
you  have  not  come  up  once  or  twice  just  to  see 
in  what  corner  of  the  world  I  lived? ' 

"  No  ;   I  have  been  busy." 

Miranda  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

"I  had  no  right  to  expect  you  would."  She 
pushed  out  a  foot  in  a  polished  shoe  beyond  the 
hem    of  her    dress,   contemplated    it   with    great 


xii  MIRANDA    OF    THE    BALCONY  167 

interest,  and  suddenly  withdrew  it  with  much 
circumstance  of  modesty.  Then  with  an  involun- 
tary gesture  of  repugnance  which  Charnock  did 
not  understand,  she  went  over  to  the  window  and 
stood  looking  out  from  it.  From  that  position 
too  she  spoke. 

"You  promised  that  night,  if  you  have  not 
forgotten,  at  Lady  Donnisthorpe's,  on  the  balcony, 
to  tell  me  about  yourself,  about  those  years  you 
spent  in  Westminster."  And  Charnock  broke  in 
upon  her  speech  in  a  voice  of  relief. 

"  I  understand,"  said  he. 

"  What  ?  " 

"  You,"  he  replied  simply. 

"  Oh,  I  hope  not,"  she  returned  ;  "for  when  a 
woman  becomes  intelligible  to  a  man,  he  loses  all 
— liking  for  her,"  and  she  spoke  the  word  "  liking  " 
with  extreme  shyness  as  though  there  were  a 
bolder  word  with  which  he  might  replace  it  if  he 
chose.     "  Is  not  that  the  creed  ?  " 

"  A  false  creed,"  said  he,  and  her  eyes  fell  upon 
the  open  book.  She  uttered  a  startled  exclama- 
tion, threw  a  quick  glance  at  Charnock,  closed  the 
book  and  covered  it  with  a  newspaper. 

"  Let  us  go  into  the  garden,"  said  she ;  "  and 
you  shall  talk  to  me  of  those  years  in  which  I  am 
most  interested." 

"  That  I  can  understand,"  said  he,  and  she 
glanced  at  him  sharply,  suspiciously,  but  there  was 
no  sarcasm  in  his  accent..  He  had  hit  upon  an 
explanation  of  the  change  in  her.  She  stood  in 
peril,  she  needed  help,  and  very  likely  help  of  a 
kind    which     implied    resource,    which    involved 


1 68  MIRANDA    OF   THE   BALCONY         chap. 

danger.  She  knew  nothing  of  him,  nothing  of 
his  capacity.  It  was  no  more  than  natural  that 
he  should  require  to  know  and  that  she  should 
sound  his  years  for  the  knowledge,  before  she 
laid  him  under  the  obligation  of  doing  her  a 
service. 

He  sat  down  on  the  chair  in  which  M.  Fournier 
had  sat  only  yesterday. 

"  It  will  sound  very  unfamiliar  to  you,"  he  said 
with  a  laugh.  "  My  father  was  vicar  of  a  moor- 
land parish  on  the  hills  above  Brighouse  in  York- 
shire. There  I  lived  until  I  was  twelve,  until  my 
father  died.  He  had  nothing  but  the  living, 
which  was  poor  —  the  village  schoolmaster,  what 
with  capitation  grants,  was  a  good  deal  better  off 
—  so  that  when  he  died,  he  died  penniless.  I  was 
adopted  by  a  maiden  aunt  who  took  me  to  her 
home,  a  little  villa  in  the  south  suburbs  of 
London  of  which  the  shutters  had  never  been 
taken  down  from  the  front  windows  since  she  had 
come  to  live  there  three  years  before." 

"  Why  ?  "  asked  Miranda,  in  surprise. 

"  She  was  eccentric,"  explained  Charnock,  with  a 
smile,  and  he  resumed.  "  Nor  had  the  front  door 
ever  been  opened.  My  aunt  was  afraid  that 
visitors  might  call,  and,  as  she  truly  said,  the  house 
was  not  yet  in  order.  The  furniture,  partly  un- 
packed, with  wisps  of  straw  about  the  legs  of  the 
chairs,  was  piled  up  in  the  uncarpeted  rooms.  For 
there  was  only  a  carpet  down  in  one  room,  the  room 
in  which  we  lived,  and  since  the  room  was  in  the 
front  and  the  shutters  were  up,  we  lived  in  a 
perpetual  twilight." 


xii  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY  169 

"  But  did  the  servants  do  nothing  ?  "  exclaimed 
Miranda. 

"  There  were  no  servants,"  returned  Charnock. 
"  My  aunt  said  that  they  hampered  her  independ- 
ence. Consequently  of  course  we  made  our  meals  of 
tinned  meat  and  bottled  stout,  which  we  ate  stand- 
ing up  by  the  kitchen  table  in  the  garden  if  it  was 
fine.  But  wet  or  fine  the  kitchen  table  always 
stood  in  the  garden." 

Here  Miranda  began  to  laugh  and  Charnock 
joined  with  her. 

"  It  was  a  quaint  sort  of  life,"  said  he,  "  but 
rather  ghostly  to  a  boy  of  twelve." 

"  But  you  went  to  school  ?  " 

"  No,  my  schooldays  were  over.  I  just  lived  in 
the  twilight  of  that  house,  and  through  the  chinks 
of  the  shutters  watched  people  passing  in  the  street, 
and  lay  awake  at  night  listening  to  the  creak  of 
the  bare  boards.  The  house  was  in  a  terrace,  and 
since  we  went  to  bed  as  soon  as  it  grew  dark  to 
save  the  gas,  I  could  hear  through  the  wall  the 
sounds  of  people  laughing  and  talking,  some- 
times too  the  voices  of  boys  of  my  own  age 
playing  while  I  lay  in  bed.  I  used  to  like 
the  noise  at  times ;  it  was  companionable  and 
told  me  fairy  stories  of  blazing  firesides.  At 
times,  however,  I  hated  it  beyond  words,  and 
hated  the  boys  who  laughed  and  shouted  while 
I  lay  in  the  dark  amongst  the  ghostly  piles  of 
furniture." 

Miranda  was  now  quite  serious,  and  Charnock, 
as  he  watched  her,  recognised  in  the  woman  who 
was  listening,  the  woman  he  had  talked  with  on  the 


170  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONT         chap. 

balcony  over  St.  James's  Park,  and  not  the  woman 
he  had  talked  with  five  minutes  since. 

"  Only  to  think  of  it,"  she  exclaimed.  "  I  was 
living  then  amongst  the  Suffolk  meadows,  and  the 
great  whispering  elms  of  the  Park,  and  I  never 
knew."  She  spoke  almost  in  a  tone  of  self- 
reproach  as  she  clasped  her  hands  together  on  her 
knees.     "  I  never  knew  !  " 

"  Oh,  but  we  had  our  dissipations,"  returned 
Charnock.  "  We  dug  potatoes  in  the  garden,  and 
sometimes  we  paid  a  visit  to  Marshall  and 
Snelgrove." 

"  Marshall  and  Snelgrove  !  " 

"  Yes,  those  were  gala  days.  My  aunt  would 
buy  the  best  ready-made  bodice  in  the  shop,  which 
she  carried  away  with  her.  From  Marshall  and 
Snelgrove's  we  used  to  go  to  Verrey's  restaurant, 
where  we  dined  amongst  mirrors  and  much  gilding, 
and  about  nine  o'clock  we  would  travel  back  to 
our  suburb,  creep  into  the  dark  house  by  the  back 
door,  and  go  to  bed  without  a  light.  Imagine  that 
if  you  can,  Mrs.  Warriner.  The  clatter,  the  noise, 
the  flowers,  the  lights,  of  the  restaurant,  men  and 
women  in  evening  dress,  and  just  about  the  time 
when  they  were  driving  up  to  their  theatres,  these 
people,  in  whose  company  we  had  dined,  we  were 
creeping  into  the  dark,  close-shuttered  villa  of  the 
bare  boards,  and  groping  our  way  through  the 
passage  without  a  light.  I  used  to  imagine  that 
every  room  had  a  man  hiding  behind  the  door,  and 
all  night  long  I  heard  men  in  my  room  breathing 
stealthily.  It  was  after  one  such  night  that  I 
ran  away." 


xh  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONT  171 

"  You  ran  away  ?  " 

"  Yes,  and  hid  myself  in  London.  I  picked  up 
a  living  one  way  and  another.  It  doesn't  cost 
much  to  live  when  you  are  put  to  it.  I  sold 
newspapers.     I  ran  errands  —  " 

"You  didn't  carry  a  sandwich-board?"  exclaimed 
Miranda,  eagerly.    .  "  Say  you  didn't  do  that !  " 

"  I  didn't,"  replied  Charnock,  with  some  surprise 
at  her  eagerness.  "They  wouldn't  have  given  a 
nipper  like  me  a  sandwich-board,"  and  Miranda 
drew  an  unaccountable  breath  of  relief.  "  Finally 
I  became  an  office  boy,  and  I  was  allowed  by  my 
employer  to  sleep  in  an  empty  house  in  one  of 
the  small  streets  at  the  back  of  Westminster 
Abbey.  There  weren't  any  carpets  either  in  that 
house,  but  I  was  independent,  you  see,  and  I  saved 
my  lodging.  I  wasn't  unhappy  during  those  three 
years.  I  understood  that  very  well,  when  I  heard 
the  big  clock  strike  twelve  again  on  Lady  Donnis- 
thorpe's  balcony.  It  was  the  first  time  I  had  heard 
it  since  I  lived  in  the  empty  house,  and  heard  it 
every  night,  and  the  sound  of  it  was  very  pleasant 
and  friendly." 

"  Then  you  left  London,"  said  Miranda. 

"  After  three  years.  I  was  a  clerk  then  ;  I  was 
seventeen, and  I  hadambitionswhichclerkingdidn't 
satisfy.  I  always  had  a  hankering  after  machinery, 
and  I  used  to  teach  myself  drawing.  The  lessons, 
however,  did  not  turn  out  very  successful,  when  I 
put  them  to  the  test." 

"  What  did  you  do  ?"  asked  Miranda. 

"  I  went  up  North  to  Leeds.  There's  a  firm  of 
railway   contractors    and   manufacturers   of  loco- 


172  MIRANDA    OF   THE   BALCONY  chap. 

motives.  Sir  John  Martin  is  the  head  partner,  and 
I  had  seen  him  once  or  twice  at  my  father's  house, 
for  he  took  and  takes  a  great  interest  in  the 
Yorkshire  clergy." 

"  I  see.  You  went  to  him  and  told  him  who 
you  were,"  said  Miranda,  who  inclined  towards 
Charnock  more  and  more  from  the  interest  which 
she  took  in  a  youth  so  entirely  strange,  and 
apart  from  her  own  up-bringing,  just  as  he  on  his 
part  had  been  from  the  first  attracted  to  her  by  the 
secure  traditional  life  of  which  she  was  the  flower, 
of  which  he  traced  associations  in  her  simplicity,and 
up  to  this  day,  at  all  events,  her  lack  of  affectations. 

"  No,"  replied  Charnock,  "  it  would  have  been 
wiser  if  I  had  done  that ;  but  I  didn't.  I  changed 
my  name,  and  applied  for  a  vacancy  as  draughts- 
man. I  obtained  it,  and  held  the  post  for  three 
weeks.  Why  they  suffered  me  for  three  weeks  is 
still  a  mystery,  for  of  course  I  couldn't  draw  at  all. 
At  the  end  of  three  weeks  I  was  discharged.  I 
asked  to  be  taken  on  as  anything  at  thirteen 
shillings  a  week.  I  saw  Sir  John  Martin  himself. 
He  said  I  couldn't  live  on  thirteen  shillings;  I  said 
I  could,  and  he  asked  me  how."  Charnock  began 
to  laugh  at  his  own  story.  "I  told  him  how,"  he 
said.     "  I  lived  practically  for  nothing." 

"  How  ?  "  said  Miranda.  "  Quick,  tell  me  !  " 
Charnock  laughed  again.  "  I  had  been  three  weeks 
at  the  works,  you  see,  where  hands  were  continually 
changing.  I  lived  in  a  sort  of  mechanics'  boarding- 
house,  and  I  lived  practically  for  nothing,  on  con- 
dition that  I  kept  the  house  full,  which  I  was  able 
to  do,  for  I  got  on  very  well  with  the  men  at  the 


xn      MIRANDA    OF   THE   BALCONY  173 

works.  Sir  John  laughed  when  I  told  him,  and 
took  me  into  the  office.  So  there  I  was  a  clerk 
again,  which  I  didn't  want  to  be ;  however,  I  was 
not  a  clerk  for  long.  One  Sunday  Sir  John  Martin 
came  down  to  the  boarding-house  and  asked  for 
me.  It  was  dinner  time,  and  he  was  shown 
straight  into  the  dining-room,  where  I  was  sitting, 
if  you  please,  at  the  head  of  the  table,  in  my  shirt- 
sleeves, carving  for  all  I  was  worth.  He  leaned 
against  the  door  and  shook  with  laughter.  *  You  are 
certain  to  get  on,'  he  said;  'but  I  would  like  a 
few  minutes  with  you  alone.'  I  put  on  my  coat, 
and  went  out  with  him  into  the  street.  '  Is  your 
name  Charnock?'  he  asked,  and  I  answered  that 
it  was.  '  I  thought  I  knew  your  face,'  said  he,  'and 
that's  why  I  took  you  into  my  office,  though  I 
couldn't  put  a  name  to  you.  So  if  you  are  proud 
enough  to  think  that  I  took  you  on  your  own 
merits,  you  are  wrong.  You  might  as  well  have 
told  me  your  real  name,  and  saved  yourself  some 
time.  Look  at  that ! '  and  he  gave  me  a  news- 
paper, and  pointed  out  an  advertisement.  A  firm 
of  solicitors  in  London  was  advertising  for  me, 
and  the  firm,  I  happened  to  know,  looked  after 
my  aunt's  affairs.  I  went  to  London  that  night. 
My  aunt  had  died  sixteen  months  before,  and  had 
left  me  six  hundred  a  year.  The  rest  was  easy. 
I  took  Sir  John's  advice.  c  Railways,'  he  said, 
'railways;  they  are  the  white  man's  tentacles;' 
and  Sir  John  gave  me  my  first  employment  as 
an  engineer." 

Miranda    was    silent    for    a     long    while    after 
Charnock  had  ended  his  story.     Charnock  himself 


174  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY  chap. 

had  nothing  further  to  say.  It  was  for  her  to 
speak,  not  for  him  to  question.  She  had  sent  the 
glove.  She  knew  why  he  had  come.  Miranda, 
however,  took  a  turn  along  the  flagged  pathway, 
and  leaned  over  the  breast-high  wall  and  pointed  out 
a  vulture  above  the  valley,  and  talked  in  inattentive, 
undecided  tones  upon  any  impersonal  topic.  It  was 
natural,  Charnock  thought,  that  she  should  wish  to 
con  over  what  he  had  told  her.  So  he  rose  from 
his  chair. 

"  Shall  I  come  back  to-morrow  ?  "  he  asked,  and 
she  rallied  herself  to  answer  him. 

"  Will  you  ?  "  she  exclaimed.  "  I  should  be  so 
glad,"  and  checking  the  ardour  of  her  words,  she 
explained,  "  I  mean  of  course  if  you  have  nothing 
better  to  do,"  and  she  examined  a  flower  with 
intense  absorption,  and  then  looked  at  him  pathet- 
ically over  her  shoulder,  as  he  moved  away.  So 
again  he  lost  sight  of  the  Miranda  of  the  balcony, 
and  carried  away  his  first  impression,  that  he  had 
met  that  afternoon  with  a  stranger. 

His  fervour  of  the  morning  changed  to  a  chilling 
perplexity.  He  wondered  at  the  change  in  her. 
Something  else,  too,  seized  upon  his  thoughts,  and 
exercised  his  fancies.  Why  had  she  stood  so  long 
outside  the  door  before  she  hurried  in  with  her 
simulated  surprise  ?  How  had  she  looked  as  she 
paused  there,  silent  and  motionless  ?  That  ques- 
tion in  particular  haunted  him,  for  he  thought  that 
if  only  he  could  have  seen  her  through  the  closed 
door  he  would  have  found  a  clue  which  would  lead 
him  to  comprehend  and  to  justify  her. 

Absorbed    by  these   thoughts   he  sat   through 


xii  MIRANDA    OF    THE    BALCONY  175 

dinner  unobservant  of  his  few  neighbours  at  the 
long  table.  He  was  therefore  surprised  when,  as 
he  stood  in  the  stone  hall,  lighting  his  cigar,  a 
friendly  hand  was  clapped  down  upon  his  shoul- 
der, and  an  affable  voice  remarked  :  — 

"  Aha,  dear  friend  !  Finished  the  little  job  at 
Algeciras,  I  saw.    What  are  you  doing  at  Ronda? ' 

"  What  are  you  ?  '  asked  Charnock,  as  he 
faced  the  irrepressible   Major  Wilbraham. 

"Trying  to  make  seven  hundred  per  annum 
into  a  thousand.  You  see  I  have  no  secrets. 
Now  confidence  for  confidence,  eh,  dear  friend  ?  " 
and  his  eyes  drew  cunningly  together  behind  the 
glowing  end  of  his  cigar. 

"  I  am  afraid  that  I  must  leave  you  to  guess." 

"  Guessing's  not  very  sociable  work." 

"  Perhaps  that's  why  I  am  given  to  it,"  said 
Charnock,  and  he  walked  between  the  stone  col- 
umns and  up  the  broad  staircase. 

The  Major  looked  after  him  without  the 
slightest  resentment. 

"  Slipped  up  that  time,  Ambrose,  my  lad,"  he 
said  to  himself,  and  sauntered  cheerfully  out  of 
the  hotel. 

Five  minutes  later  Charnock  passed  through  the 
square  at  a  quick  walk.  Wilbraham  was  meditating 
a  translation  of  the  Carmen  Sseculare,  but  business 
habits  prevailed  with  him.  He  thrust  the  worn 
little  Horace  into  his  breast-pocket  and  followed 
Charnock  at  a  safe  distance.  By  means  of  a  skill 
acquired  by  much  practice,  he  walked  very  swiftly 
and  yet  retained  the  indifferent  air  of  a  loiterer. 
There  was  another  picture  of  the  tracker  and  the 


176  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY         chap. 

tracked  to  be  seen  that  evening,  but  in  Ronda 
instead  of  Tangier,  and  Charnock  was  unable  to 
compare  it  with  its  companion  picture,  since,  in  this 
case,  he  was  the  tracked.  The  two  men  passed 
down  the  hill  to  the  bridge.  Charnock  stopped 
for  a  little  and  stood  looking  over  the  parapet  to 
the  water  two  hundred  and  fifty  feet  below,  which 
was  just  visible  through  the  gathering  darkness 
like  a  ridge  of  snow  on  black  soil.  Wilbraham 
halted  at  the  end  of  the  bridge.  It  seemed  that 
Charnock  was  merely  taking  a  stroll.  He  had 
himself,  however,  nothing  better  to  do  at  the 
moment.  He  waited  and  repeated  a  stanza  of  his 
translation  to  the  rhythm  of  the  torrent,  and  was 
not  displeased.  Charnock  moved  on  across  the 
bridge,  across  the  Plaza  on  the  farther  side  of  the 
bridge,  up  a  street  until  he  came  to  an  old  Moorish 
house  that  showed  a  blank  yellow  wall  to  the  street 
and  a  heavy  walnut  door  encrusted  with  copper  nails. 

Then  he  stopped  again  and  looked  steadily  at 
the  house  and  for  a  long  while.  Wilbraham  began 
pensively  to  whistle  a  slow  tune  under  his  breath. 
Charnock  walked  on,  stopped  again,  looked  back 
to  the  house,  as  though  he  searched  for  a  glimpse 
of  the  lights.  But  there  was  no  chink  or  cranny 
in  that  blank  wall.  The  house  faced  the  street, 
blind,  dark,  and  repellent. 

Charnock  suddenly  retraced  his  steps.  Wil- 
braham had  just  time  to  mount  the  doorsteps 
of  a  house  as  though  he  was  about  to  knock,  be- 
fore Charnock  passed  him.  Charnock  had  not 
noticed  him.  Wilbraham  descended  the  steps 
and  followed  Charnock  back  into  the  Plaza. 


xii  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY  177 

Charnock  was  looking  for  a  road  which  he  had 
seen  that  afternoon  from  Miranda's  garden,  a  road 
which  wound  in  zigzags  down  the  cliff.  The  road 
descended  from  the  Plaza,  Charnock  discovered  it, 
walked  down  it ;  behind  him  at  a  little  distance 
walked  Wilbraham.  It  was  now  falling  dark,  but 
the  night  was  still,  so  that  Wilbraham  was  com- 
pelled to  drop  yet  farther  and  farther  behind, 
lest  the  sound  of  his  footsteps  upon  the  hard, 
dry  ground  should  betray  his  pursuit.  He  fell 
so  far  behind,  in  fact,  that  he  ceased  to  hear 
Charnock's  footsteps  at  all.  He  accordingly  hur- 
ried ;  he  did  more  than  hurry,  he  ran ;  he  turned 
an  angle  of  the  road  and  immediately  a  man 
seated  upon  the  bank  by  the  road-side  said :  — 

"  Buenas  noches." 

The  man  was  Charnock. 

Wilbraham  had  the  presence  of  mind  not  to  stop. 

"  Felices  suenosy"  he  returned  in  a  gruff  voice 
and  continued  to  run.  He  ran  on  until  another 
angle  of  the  road  hid  him.  Then  he  climbed 
on  to  the  top  of  the  bank,  which  was  high,  and 
with  great  caution  doubled  back  along  the  ridge 
until   Charnock  was  just  beneath   him. 

Charnock  was  gazing  upwards ;  Wilbraham 
followed  his  example,  and  saw  that  right  above 
his  head,  on  the  rim  of  the  precipice,  an  open 
window  glowed  upon  the  night,  a  square  of  warm 
yellow  light  empanelled  in  the  purple  gloom. 

The  ceiling  of  the  room  was  visible,  and  just 
below  the  ceiling  a  gleam  as  of  polished  panels. 
At  that  height  above  them  the  window  seemed 
very  small ;  its  brightness  exaggerated  the  dark- 


178  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONT         chap. 

ness  which  surrounded  it ;  and  both  men  looked 
into  it  as  into  a  tiny  theatre  of  marionettes  and 
expected  the  performance  of  a  miniature  play. 

All  that  they  saw,  however,  was  a  shadow- 
pantomime  thrown  upon  the  ceiling,  and  that 
merely  of  a  tantalising  kind  —  the  shadow  of  a 
woman's  head  and  hair,  growing  and  diminish- 
ing as  the  unseen  woman  moved  away  or  to 
the  candles.  A  second  shadow,  and  this  too 
the  shadow  of  a  woman,  joined  the  first.  But 
no  woman  showed  herself  at  the  window,  and 
Charnock,  tiring  of  the  entertainment,  returned 
to  his  hotel. 

Wilbraham  remained  to  count  the  houses  be- 
tween that  lighted  window  and  the  chasm  of  the 
Tajo.  He  counted  six.  Then  he  returned,  but 
not  immediately  to  the  hotel.  On  reaching  the 
Plaza  he  walked,  indeed,  precisely  in  the  opposite 
direction,  away  from  the  Tajo,  and  he  counted 
the  houses  which  he  passed  and  stopped  before 
the  seventh. 

The  seventh  was  noticeable  for  its  great  doors 
of  walnut-wood  and  the  geometrical  figures  which 
were  traced  upon  it  with  copper  nails. 

The  Major  cocked  his  hat  on  one  side,  and 
stepped  out  for  the  hotel  most  jauntily.  "  These 
little  accidents,"  said  he,  "  a  brigantine  sighted  off 
Ushant ;  a  man  going  out  for  a  walk  !  If  only 
one  has  patience !  Patience,  there's  the  secret. 
A  little  more,  and  how  much  —  a  great  poet !  ' 
And  he  entered  the  hotel. 

Charnock  rose  from  a  bench  in  the  hall. 
"  Pleasant  night  for  a  stroll,"   said  he. 


xii  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY  179 


« 


Business  with  me,  dear  old  boy,"  replied  the 
Major.  "  I  fancy  that  after  all  I  have  made  that 
seven  hundred  per  annum  into  a  thou.  I  am  not 
sure,  but  I  think  so.  Good-night,  sleep  well,  be 
good  !  '  With  a  flourish  of  his  hand  over  the 
balustrade  of  the  stairs,  the  Major  disappeared. 

Charnock  sat  down  again  on  the  bench  and 
reflected. 

"  Wilbraham's  at  Ronda.  I  find  him  at  Ronda 
when  I  am  sent  for  to  Ronda.  Wilbraham  said 
good-night  to  me  on  the  road.  Wilbraham  was 
following  me  ;  Wilbraham's  clothes  were  dusty  :  it 
was  Wilbraham  who  kicked  his  toes  into  the  grass 
on  the  top  of  the  bank  while  I  sat  at  the  bottom. 
Have  I  to  meet  Wilbraham  ?  What  has  his  seven 
hundred  per  annum  to  do  with  Mrs.  Warriner  ? 
Well,  I  shall  learn  to-morrow,"  he  concluded,  and 
so  went  to  bed. 


CHAPTER   XIII 

WHEREIN    THE    HERO'S    PERPLEXITIES    INCREASE 

Charnock.,  however,  learned  nothing  the  next 
morning,  except  perhaps  a  lesson  in  patience. 
For  the  greater  part  of  his  visit  was  occupied  in 
extracting  a  thorn  from  one  of  Mrs.  Warriner's 
fingers.  They  chanced  to  be  alone  in  the  garden 
when  the  accident  occurred,  and  Miranda  naturally 
came  to  him  for  assistance.  She  said  no  word 
about  the  glove,  nor  did  he ;  it  was  part  of  the 
compact  that  he  should  be  silent.  He  came  the 
next  day,  and  it  seemed  that  there  was  something 
amiss  with  Miranda's  hairpins,  for  the  coils  of  her 
hair  were  continually  threatening  to  tumble  about 
her  shoulders ;  at  least,  so  she  said,  complaining 
of  the  weight  of  her  hair.  But  again  there  was  no 
mention  of  the  glove.  That  afternoon  Charnock 
was  introduced  to  Miss  Holt,  whom  Miranda  kept 
continually  at  her  side,  until  Charnock  took  his 
leave,  when  she  accompanied  him  across  the  patio. 

"  We  never  seem  to  get  an  opportunity  of  talking 
to  each  other,"  said  she,  with  the  utmost  innocence. 
"  Will  you  ride  with  me  to-morrow  ?  Say  at  two. 
We  might  ride  as  far  as  Ronda  La  Viega." 

1 80 


chap,  xm    MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY  181 

Charnock,  who  within  the  last  half-hour  had 
begun  to  consider  whether  it  would  not  be  wise 
for  him  to  return  to  Algeciras,  eagerly  accepted 
the  invitation.  To-morrow  everything  would  be 
explained.  They  would  ride  out  together,  alone, 
and  she  would  tell  him  of  the  dragon  he  was 
required  to  slay,  and  no  doubt  explain  why,  for 
these  last  two  days,  she  had  been  marketing  her 
charms.  That  certainly  needed  explanation  —  for 
even  at  this  moment  in  the  patio,  she  was  engaged 
in  kissing  a  kitten  with  too  elaborate  a  preparation 
of  her  lips  to  avoid  a  suspicion  that  the  panto- 
mime was  intended  for  a  spectator. 

Charnock  was  punctual  to  the  minute  of  his 
appointment,  and  in  Miranda's  company  rode 
through  the  town.  As  they  passed  the  hotel, 
Major  Wilbraham  came  out  of  the  doorway.  He 
took  off  his  hat.  Charnock  nodded  in  reply  and 
turned  towards  Miranda,  remembering  his  sus- 
picions as  to  whether  Wilbraham  was  concerned 
in  the  mysterious  peril  which  he  was  to  combat. 
To  his  surprise  Miranda  instantly  smiled  at  the 
Major  with  extreme  friendliness,  and  markedly 
returned  his  bow. 

"  Clever,  clever  !  "  muttered  the  Major,  as  he 
bit  his  moustache  and  commended  her  manoeuvre. 
"  A  little  overdone,  perhaps  ;  the  bow  a  trifle  too 
marked  ;  still,  it's  clever  !  Ambrose,  you  will  have 
that  thousand." 

Charnock  was  perplexed.  "  How  long  have 
you  known  Wilbraham?"  he  asked. 

Miranda  stammered,  bent  her  head,  and  smiled 
as  it  were  in  spite  of  herself. 


1 82  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY  chap. 

"A  long  while,"  she  answered,  and  then  she 
sighed.  "  A  long  while,"  she  repeated  softly. 
Charnock  was  exasperated  to  a  pitch  beyond  his 
control. 

"  If  you  want  to  make  me  believe  that  you  are 
in  love  with  him,"  he  returned  sharply,  almost 
roughly,  "you  will  fail,  Mrs.  Warriner.  I  should 
find  it  hard  to  believe  that  he  is  even  one  of  your 
friends." 

The  words  were  hardly  out  of  his  lips  before 
he  regretted  them.  They  insulted  her.  She  was 
hardly  the  woman  to  sit  still  under  an  insult ;  but 
her  manner  again  surprised  him.  He  was  almost 
prepared  to  be  sent  curtly  to  the  right  about, 
whereas  she  made  no  answer  whatever.  She 
coloured  hotly,  and  rode  forward  ahead  of  him  until 
they  were  well  out  of  the  town  and  descending 
the  hill  into  the  bottom  of  the  valley.  Then  she 
fell  back  again  by  his  side,  and  said  :  "  Why  is 
your  face  always  so  —  illegible  ?  " 

"  Is  it  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  It's  a  lid  —  a  shut  lid,"  she  said.  "  One  never 
knows  what  you  think,  how  you  are  disposed." 
She  spoke  with  some  irritation  perhaps,  but  sin- 
cerely, and  without  any  effort  at  provocation. 

"  I  was  not  aware,"  returned  Charnock.  "  You 
must  set  it  down  to  habit,  Mrs.  Warriner.  I  was 
brought  up  in  a  hard  school,  and  learned,  no  doubt, 
intuitivelv  the  wisdom  of  reticence." 

J 

"  Is  it  always  wisdom  ?  "  she  asked  doubtfully, 
and  it  seemed  a  strange  question  to  come  from  her 
whose  business  it  was  to  speak,  just  as  it  was  his  to 
listen.     But  very   likely   her  doubt  was  in  this 


xiii  MIRANDA    OF    THE    BALCONY  183 

instance  preferable  to  his  wisdom.  Some  word  of 
surprise  at  the  change  in  her,  perhaps  one  simple 
gesture  of  impatience,  would  have  broken  down 
the  barrier  between  them.  But  he  had  taken  the 
buffets  of  her  provocations  and  her  advances  with, 
as  she  truly  said,  an  illegible  face. 

"Is  it  always  wisdom  ?  "  she  asked,  and  she 
added  :  "  You  were  not  so  reticent  when  I  first  met 
you  ;  "  and  just  that  inconsistency  between  his 
bearing  at  Lady  Donnisthorpe's  ball,  and  his 
inexpressive  composure  of  these  few  last  days, 
might  have  revealed  to  her  at  this  moment  what 
he  thought,  and  how  he  was  disposed,  had  she 
brought  a  cooler  mind  to  consider  it.  For  the 
man  was  not  chary  of  expression  when  the  world 
went  well  with  him  ;  it  was  only  in  the  presence 
of  disappointments,  rebuffs,  and  aversions  that 
his  face  became  a  lid. 

They  left  their  horses  at  a  farm-house,  and 
climbed  up  the  rough,  steep  slope  to  the  windy 
ridge  on  which  the  old  Roman  town  was  built. 
They  sat  for  a  while  upon  the  stones  of  the  old 
wall,  looking  across  the  great  level  plain  of  olive 
trees,  and  poplars,  and  white  villages  gleaming  in 
the  sunlight.  Here  was  a  fitting  moment  for 
the  story  to  be  told,  Charnock  thought,  and  ex- 
pected its  telling.  But  he  only  saw  that  Miranda 
scrutinised  his  looks,  and  he  only  heard  her  gab- 
bling of  this  triviality  and  that  with  a  feverish 
vivacity.  And  no  doubt  his  face  betrayed  less 
than  ever  what  he  thought  and  felt. 

"  Shall  I  see  you  to-morrow  ? '  she  asked  as 
they  parted  that  afternoon  outside  her  door. 


1 84  MIRANDA    OF   THE   BALCONY  chap. 

"  I  will  come  round  in  the  morning  after  lunch," 
he  replied,  and  she  uttered  a  quick  little  sigh  of 
pleasure,  which  made  Charnock  turn  his  horse 
with  a  sharp,  angry  tug  at  the  rein,  and  ride 
quickly  away  across  the  bridge. 

That  first  impulse  to  leave  Ronda  had  gone  from 
him.  He  was  engaged,  through  his  own  wish  and 
action,  to  serve  Mrs.  Warriner,  and  he  was  resolved 
to  keep  the  engagement  to  the  letter.  But  he  was 
beginning  to  realise  that  he  should  be  serving  a 
woman  whom  in  the  bottom  of  his  heart  he  despised. 
The  message  of  his  mirror  became  a  fable  ;  he 
recalled  what  Miranda  herself  had  suggested,  that 
the  look  of  distress  which  he  had  seen  upon  the 
face  was  due  to  his  chance  visit  to  Macbeth;  and 
certain  words  which  a  woman  had  spoken  at  Lady 
Donnisthorpe's  dance  as  she  sat  by  the  window 
recurred  to  him.  "There's  a  coquette  "  was  one 
phrase  which  on  this  particular  evening  recurred 
and  recurred  to  his  thoughts. 

However,  he  returned  to  the  house  upon  the 
rim  of  the  precipice  the  next  morning,  and  being 
led  by  a  servant  through  the  patio  into  the  garden, 
came  upon  Miranda  unawares.  She  was  busy 
amongst  her  flowers,  cutting  the  choicest  and 
arranging  them  in  a  basket,  and  she  did  not  notice 
Charnock's  appearance.  Charnock  was  well  con- 
tent with  her  inattention.  For  in  the  quiet  grace  of 
her  movements,  as  she  walked  amongst  her  flowers, 
he  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  Miranda  whom  he 
knew,  the  Miranda  of  the  balconv.  The  October 
sunlight  was  golden  about  them,  a  light  wind 
tempered  its  heat,  and  on  the  wind  were  borne 


xm  MIRANDA    OF   THE   BALCONY  185 

upwards  to  his  ears  the  distant  cries  of  peasants 
in  the  plain  below.  He  had  a  view  now  and 
then  of  her  face,  as  she  rose  and  stooped,  and 
he  remarked  a  gentleness  and  a  simplicity  in  its 
expression  which  had  been  foreign  to  it  since  he 
had  come  to  Ronda. 

But  the  expression  changed  when  she  saw  Char- 
nock  standing  in  the  garden. 

"  Who  do  vou  think  I  am  cutting  these  flowers 
for?  "  she  asked  with  an  intolerable  playfulness. 
"  You  will  never  guess." 

Charnock  stepped  over  to  her  side. 

"  Mrs.  Warriner,"  said  he,  "  will  you  give  me 
one  r 

She  looked  at  him  with  a  whimsical  hesitation. 

"  They  are  intended  for  Gibraltar,"  she  said,  as 
she  caressed  the  bunch  which  she  held  — but  she 
spoke  with  a  great  repugnance,  and  the  playfulness 
had  gone  from  her  voice  before  she  had  ended  the 
sentence. 

"  For  Gibraltar  ?  "  he  exclaimed,  remembering 
the  gentle  look  upon  her  face  as  she  had  culled 
them.     "  For  whom  in  Gibraltar  ?     For  whom  ? ' 
He  confronted  her  squarely;  his  voice  commanded 
her  to  answer. 

She  drew  back  from  him  ;  the  colour  went  from 
her  cheeks ;  her  fingers  were  interclasped  convul- 
sively ;  it  seemed  as  though  the  words  she  tried  to 
speak  were  choking  her.  But  her  emotion  lasted 
for  no  more  than  a  moment,  though  for  that 
moment  Charnock  could  not  doubt  that  it  was 
real.  He  took  a  step  forwards,  and  she  was  again 
mistress  of  herself. 


1 86  MIRANDA    OF   THE   BALCONY  chap. 

"Yes,  I  will  give  you  one,"  she  said  hurriedly. 
"  I  will  even  fix  it  in  your  button-hole.  Will  you 
be  grateful  if  I  do  ?  Will  you  be  very  grateful  ?  " 
Charnock  neither  answered  nor  moved.  He  stood 
in  front  of  her  with  a  face  singularly  stolid.  But 
Miranda's  hands  touched  his  breast,  and  at  the 
shock  of  her  fingers  he  drew  in  his  breath,  and 
his  whole  body  vibrated. 

And  how  it  came  about  neither  of  them  knew, 
but  in  an  instant  the  flowers  were  on  the  ground 
between  them,  and  her  hands  gripped  his  shoulders 
as  they  stood  face  to  face  and  tightened  upon  them 
in  a  passionate  appeal.  He  read  the  same  pas- 
sionate appeal  in  her  eyes,  which  now  frankly 
looked  up  to  his. 

"  You  don't  know,"  she  cried  incoherently, 
"you  don't  know." 

"  But  I  wish  to  know,"  he  exclaimed,  "  tell 
me ; "  and  his  arms  went  about  her  waist.  She 
uttered  a  cry  and  violently  tore  and  plucked  his 
arms  from  her. 

"  No,"  she  cried,  "  no,  not  now,"  and  she  heard 
the  latch  of  the  door  click.     Charnock  heard  it  too. 

"  When  ? "  said  he,  as  he  stood  away,  and  the 
door  opened  and  Major  Wilbraham  with  his  hat 
upon  his  heart  bowed,  with  great  elegance,  upon  the 
threshold.  Miranda  started.  She  looked  from 
Charnock  to  Wilbraham,  from  Wilbraham  to 
Charnock. 

"  So  he  is  one  of  your  friends,"  said  Charnock. 

"  Have  you  the  right  to  choose  my  friends  ?  " 
she  asked,  and  she  greeted  Wilbraham  warmly. 

The  Major  seemed  very  much  at  his  ease.     It 


xin  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONT  187 

was  the  first  occasion  on  which  he  had  had  the 
effrontery  to  push  his  way  into  the  house,  but 
from  his  manner  one  would  have  judged 
him  a  family  friend.  He  waved  a  hand  to 
Charnock. 

"  So  you  are  there,  dear  old  darling  boy  !  "  he 
cried.  His  endearments  increased  with  every 
meeting.  "  I  saw  you  come  in  and  thought  I 
might  as  well  call  at  the  same  time,  eh,  Mrs. 
Warriner  ?  So  pleasant,  I  meet  Charnock  every- 
where. Destiny  will  have  us  friends.  That  dear 
Destiny  ! '     And  as  Charnock  with  an  ill-concealed 

ti 

air  of  distaste  turned  from  them  towards  the 
valley,  Wilbraham  whispered  to  Miranda,  "  You 
need  have  no  fear.  I  shall  not  say  a  word  —  unless 
you  force  me  to." 

Miranda  drew  back.  She  stood  for  a  moment 
with  her  hands  clenched,  and  her  eyelids  closed, 
her  face  utterly  weary  and  ashamed.  Then  with 
a  gesture  of  revolt  she  turned  towards  Charnock. 

Instantly  the  Major  stepped  in  front  of  her. 

"May  I  beg  one?'  said  he,  pointing  to  the 
basket  of  flowers.  It  was  all  very  well  for  him  to 
threaten  Miranda  that  he  would  tell  Charnock 
of  her  husband;  but  it  would  not  suit  his 
purpose  at  all  for  her  actually  to  tell  him  on  an 
impulse  of  revolt  against  the  deception  and  the 
hold  he  himself  had  upon  her.  So  he  fixed  his 
eyes  steadily  upon  her  face. 

"  May  I  beg  one  ? '  and  he  bent  towards  the 
stool  on  which  the  basket  was  set. 

"  Not  of  those  !  "  she  cried,  "  not  of  those  !  " 
and  she  snatched  up  the  basket  and  held  it  close. 


1 88  MIRANDA    OF   THE   BALCONT         chap. 

"  But  you  shall  have  one,"  she  continued  with  a 
forced  laugh,  as  over  Wilbraham's  shoulder  she  saw 
Charnock  watching  them,  and  she  snapped  offsome 
flowers  from  their  stems  with  her  fingers  until  she 
held  a  bunch.  "  There !  Make  your  choice, 
Major.     A  flower  sets  off"  a  man." 

"  Just  as  a  wife  sets  off  a  husband,  eh,  Mrs. 
Warriner  ? "  returned  the  Major,  with  a  sly 
gallantry,  as  he  fixed  the  flower  in  his  button-hole. 
"Eh,  Charnock,  did  you  hear?" 

He  joined  Charnock  as  he  spoke,  and  Miss  Holt 
coming  from  the  house,  the  talk  became  general. 
But  Charnock  noticed  that  at  one  moment 
Miranda  moved  carelessly  away  from  the  group, 
and  leaning  carelessly  over  the  wall,  carelessly 
dropped  down  the  face  of  the  cliff  the  whole  bunch 
of  flowers  from  which  Wilbraham  had  chosen  one. 
As  she  lifted  her  eyes,  however,  she  saw  Charnock 
watching  her,  and  at  once  and  for  the  rest  of  the 
time  during  which  her  guests  remained,  she  made 
her  court  to  Wilbraham  with  a  feverish  assiduity. 
She  laughed  immoderately  at  his  jokes,  she  was 
extremely  confused  by  his  compliments,  she  dis- 
played the  completest  deference  to  his  opinions ; 
so  that  even  the  unobservant  Miss  Holt  was 
surprised. 

Charnock  was  the  first  to  break  up  the 
gathering. 

"  I  must  be  going,"  he  said  curtly  to  Miranda. 

"  It  would  almost  seem  that  you  were  displeased 
with  us,"  she  answered  defiantly. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  he,  coldly.  "  I  do 
not  claim  the  privilege  to  be  displeased." 


xiii  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY  189 

"  Jolly  afternoon,"  murmured  the  Major,  in  a 
cheery  desire  to  make  the  peace,  "  good  company, 
dear  old  friends  "  —  and  he  saw  that  Miranda  was 
unmistakably  bowing  good-bye  to  himself.  He 
took  the  hint  at  once.  The  Major  was  in  a  very 
good  humour  that  afternoon,  and  as  the  party 
walked  back  to  the  house,  he  fell  behind  to 
Miranda,  who  had  already  fallen  behind. 

"  Clever,  clever,"  he  remarked  encouragingly, 
"  to  play  me  off  against  the  real  man.  A  little 
overdone  perhaps,  but  clever.  I  trust  I  did  my 
part.     We'll  make  it  a  thousand  per  annum." 

Miranda  quickened  her  pace  and  took  her  leave 
of  her  visitors  at  the  door  of  the  garden. 
Wilbraham  was  in  no  particular  hurry  to  settle  his 
business  ;  he  was  quite  satisfied  for  that  afternoon, 
and  he  entered  genially  into  conversation  with 
Miss  Holt  upon  the  subject  of  her  grievances. 

Thus  Miss  Holt  and  Wilbraham  crossed  the 
patio  and  entered  the  passage  to  the  outer  door. 
Charnock  followed  a  few  steps  behind  them  ;  and 
just  after  Miss  Holt  with  her  companion  had 
entered  the  passage,  while  he  yet  stood  in  the  patio, 
he  heard  a  door  slam  behind  him. 

He  turned,  and  walked  round  the  tiny  group  of 
tamarisks  in  the  centre  of  the  patio.  It  was  not 
the  door  into  the  garden  which  had  slammed, 
because  that  now  stood  wide  open,  whereas  he 
remembered  he  had  closed  it  behind  him  ;  and  the 
only  other  door  in  that  side  of  the  house  was  the 
door  of  Miranda's  parlour.  He  had  left  Miranda  in 
the  garden  ;  it  was  plainly  she  who  had  slammed 
the  door,  and  had  slammed  it  upon  herself. 


190  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY    chap,  xiii 

Charnockwas  alone  in  the  empty  patio.  It  was 
very  quiet ;  the  sunshine  was  a  steady  golden 
glow  upon  the  tiled  floor,  upon  the  tiled  walls  ; 
above  in  the  square  of  blue  there  was  no  scarf  of 
cloud.  He  stood  in  the  quiet  empty  patio,  and  the 
touch  of  her  fingers  tingled  again  upon  his  breast. 
Again  he  saw  her  drop  the  flowers  she  had  culled 
for  Wilbraham  down  the  cliff.  Amongst  his 
doubts  and  perplexities  those  two  recollections 
shone.  They  were  accurate,  indisputable.  Her 
feverish  vivacity,  her  coquetries,  her  friendliness  to 
Wilbraham,  her  silence  towards  himself,  the  basket 
of  flowers  for  Gibraltar  —  these  things  were 
puzzles.  But  twice  that  afternoon  she  had  been 
true  to  herself,  and  each  time  she  had  betrayed  the 
reality  of  her  trouble  and  the  reality  of  her  need. 

It  was  very  still  in  the  patio.  A  bee  droned 
amongst  the  tamarisks.  It  seemed  to  Char- 
nock  that,  after  much  sojourning  in  outlandish 
corners  of  the  earth,  he  who  had  foreseen  his  life 
as  a  struggle  with  the  brutality  of  inanimate  things 
was,  after  all,  here  in  the  still  noonday,  within  these 
four  walls,  to  undergo  the  crisis  of  his  destiny. 
He  gently  turned  the  handle  of  the  door  and 
entered  the  room. 


CHAPTER   XIV 

MIRANDA     PROFESSES     REGRET     FOR     A     PRACTICAL 

JOKE 

He  closed  the  door  behind  him.  Miranda  had 
neither  seen  nor  heard  him  enter.  She  sat 
opposite  to  the  door,  on  the  other  side  of  the 
round  oak  table,  her  arms  stretched  out  upon  the 
table,  her  face  buried  in  her  arms.  She  was  not 
weeping,  and  Charnock  might  have  believed 
from  the  abandonment  of  her  attitude  that  she  lay 
in  a  swoon,  but  for  one  movement  that  she  made. 
Her  outstretched  hands  were  clasped  together  and 
her  fingers  perpetually  worked,  twisting  and  inter- 
twisting. There  was  no  sound  whatever  in  the 
room  beyond  the  ticking  of  a  clock,  and  Charnock 
leaned  against  the  door  and  found  the  silence 
horrible.  He  would  have  preferred  it  to  have 
been  broken  if  only  by  the  sound  of  her  tears. 
All  his  doubts,  all  his  accusations,  were  swept  clean 
out  of  his  brain  by  the  sight  of  her  distress,  and, 
tortured  himself,  he  stood  witness  of  her  torture. 
He  advanced  to  the  table,  and  leaning  over  it 
took  the  woman's  clasped  hands  into  his. 

191 


192  MIRANDA    OF   THE   BALCONY         chap. 

"Miranda!  "he  whispered,  and  again,  "Miranda!" 
and  there  was  just  the  same  tenderness  in  his  voice, 

when  he  had  first  pronounced  the  name  in  the 

'cony  over  St.  James's  Park. 

Miranda  did  not  lift  her  head,  but  her  hands 
uiswered  the  clasp  of  his.     She  did  not  in  truth 

iow  at  that  moment  who  was  speaking  to  her. 
She  was  only  sensible  of  the  sympathy  of  his  touch 
and  the  great  comfort  of  his  voice. 

Charnock  bent  lower  towards  her. 

"  I  love  you,"  he  said,  "you —  Miranda." 

Then  she  raised  her  face  and  stared  at  him  with 
uncomprehending  eyes. 

"  I  love  you,"  he  repeated. 

She  looked  down  towards  her  hands  which  he 
still  held  and  suddenly  she  shivered. 

"  I  love  you,"  he  said  a  third  time. 

And  she  understood.  She  wrenched  her  hands 
away,  she  stretched  out  her  arms,  she  thrust  him 
away  from  her,  in  her  violence  she  struck  him. 

"  No,  it's  not  true,"  she  cried,  "  it's  not  true  !" 
and  so  fell  to  pleading  volubly.  "  Say  that  it's 
not  true,  now,  at  once.  Say  there's  no  truth  in 
your  words.  Say  that  pity  prompted  them  and 
only  pity,"  and  her  voice  rose  again  in  a  great 
horror.  Horror  glittered  too  in  her  eyes. 
"  Say  that  you  spoke  more  than  you  meant  to 
speak  ! " 

"  I  can  say  that,"  he  answered.  "When  I  came 
into  this  room  I  had  no  thought  of  speaking  —  as  I 
did.  But  I  saw  you  — I  watched  your  hands,"  and 
he  caught  his  breath,  "  and  they  plucked  the  truth 
out  from  me.     For  what  I  said  is  true." 


xiv  MIRANDA    OF    THE    BALCONY  193 

"  No  !  "  she  cried. 

"  Very  true,"  he  repeated  quietly. 

Her  protesting  arms  fell  limply  to  her  sides. 
She  nodded  her  head,  submitted  to  his  words, 
acknowledged  their  justice. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  "  yes.  I  knew  this  afternoon. 
You  told  me  in  the  garden,  and  though  I  would 
not  know,  still  I  could  not  but  know." 

Then  she  rose  from  her  chair  and  walked  to  the 
window.  Charnock  did  not  speak.  He  hung  upon 
her  answer,  and  yet  dreaded  to  hear  it,  so  that 
when  her  lips  moved,  he  would  have  had  them 
still,  and  when  they  ceased  to  move,  he  was 
conscious  of  a  great  relief.  After  a  long  while  she 
spoke,  very  slowly  and  without  turning  to  face  him, 
words  which  he  did  not  understand. 

"  Love,"  she  said,  in  a  wondering  murmur,  "is 
it  so  easily  got  ?  And  by  such  poor  means  ? 
Surely,  then  it's  a  slight  thing  itself,  of  no  account, 
surely  not  durable,"  and  at  once  her  calmness 
forsook  her ;  she  was  caught  up  in  a  whirl  of 
passion.  She  raised  a  quivering  face,  and  cried 
aloud  in  despair:  "It's  the  friend  I  wanted;  I 
want  no  lover  !  " 

"  But  you  have  both,"  returned  Charnock. 
With  a  hand  upon  the  table  he  leaned  over  it 
towards  her.     "  You  have  both." 

"  Ah ! "  exclaimed  Miranda.  With  extraordinary 
swiftness  she  swung  round  and  copied  his  move- 
ment. She  leaned  her  hand  upon  the  table, and  bent 
forward  to  him.  "  But  to  win  the  one  I  have  had 
to  create  the  other.  To  possess  the  friend  I  have 
had  to  make  the  lover,"  and  she  suddenly  threw 


194  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY  chap. 

herself  back  and  stood  erect.  "Well,  then,"  and 
she  spoke  with  a  thrill  in  her  voice,  as  though  she 
had  this  instant  become  aware  of  a  new  and  a  true 
conviction, "  I  must  use  neither —  I  will  use  neither 
—  I  want  neither." 

She  faced  Charnock  resolute,  and  in  her  own 
fancy  inflexible  to  any  appeal.  Only  he  made  no 
appeal ;  he  drew  his  hand  across  his  forehead  and 
looked  at  her  with  an  expression  of  simple  worry 
and  bewilderment. 

"  My  ways  have  lain  amongst  men,  and  men, 
and  men,"  he  said  regretfully.  "  I  wish  I  under- 
stood more  about  women." 

The  simplicity  of  his  manner  and  words  touched 
her  as  no  protestations  would  have  done,  and  broke 
down  her  self-control. 

"  My  dear,  my  dear !  "  she  cried,  with  a  laugh 
which  had  more  of  tears  in  it  than  amusement,  "I 
amnotsosurethatweunderstandsovery  muchabout 
ourselves  ; "'  and  she  dropped  again  into  the  chair 
and  covered  her  face  with  her  hands.  But  she  heard 
Charnock  move  round  the  table  towards  her,  and 
she  dared  not  risk  the  touch  of  his  hand,  or  so 
much  as  the  brushing  of  his  coat  against  her  dress. 
She  drew  her  hands  from  her  face,  held  out  her 
arms  straight  in  front  of  her  like  bars,  and  shrank 
back  in  the  chair  behind  the  protection  of  those 
bars. 

"  I  do  not  want  you,"  she  said  deliberately,  with 
a  quiet  harshness.  "  That,  at  all  events,  I  under- 
stand and  know.  Go  !  Go  away  !  I  do  not  want 
you  !  "  and  the  words,  spoken  this  time  without 
violence  or  haste,  struck  Charnock  like  a  blow. 


xiv  MIRANDA    OF   THE    BALCONY  195 

» 

He  stood  dazed.  He  shook  his  head,  as  though 
it  sang  from  the  blow.  Miranda  drew  in  a  breath. 
"  Go  !  "  she  repeated. 

"  You  do  not  want  me?"  he  asked,  and  some- 
how, whether  it  was  owing  to  his  tone  or  his  look, 
Miranda  understood  from  the  few  words  of  his 
question  how  much  he  had  built  upon  the  belief 
that  she  needed  him  ;  and  consequently  the  reply 
she  made  now  cost  her  more  than  all  the  rest  to 
make.  "  I  do  not,"  she  managed  to  say  firmly, 
and  dared  not  hazard  another  syllable. 

Charnock  felt  in  his  breast-pocket,  took  out  an 
envelope,  and  from  the  envelope  a  glove.  "  Yet 
this  was  sent  to  me."  Fie  laid  the  glove  upon  the 
table.  "  It  was  sent  by  you."  Miranda  took  it 
up.     "  It  contradicts  your  words." 

Miranda  turned  the  glove  over,  and  stretched 
it  out  upon  her  knees.  "  Does  it  ? '  she  asked, 
with  a  slow  smile,  "  does  it  contradict  my 
words  ?  " 

"You  sent  it  to  me  ?  " 

"  No  doubt." 

"  You  summoned  me  by  sending  it." 

"  Surely." 

"  For  some  purpose,  then  ?  " 

"  Ah,  but  for  what  purpose  ?  "  said  she,  leaning 
forwards  in  her  chair.  The  cold  smile  was  still 
upon  her  face,  and  seemed  to  Charnock  un- 
friendly as  even  her  violence  had  not  been.  It 
had  some  cruelty  too,  and  perhaps,  too,  some 
cunning. 

"  For  what  purpose?  You  should  know.  It  is 
for  you  to  say,"  he  answered  in  a  dull,  tired  voice. 


196  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY         chap. 

He  had  built  more  upon  this  unneeded  service 
than  he  himself  had  been  aware. 

"I  will  tell  you,"  continued  Miranda.  "You 
have  talked  to  my  companion  Miss  Holt?" 

"Yes." 

"  She  has  no  very  strong  faith  in  men.  Perhaps 
you  noticed  as  much." 

"  No." 

"  I  did  not  agree  with  her.  I  had  the  glove.  It 
would  be  —  amusing  to  know  whether  she  was 
right  or  whether  I  was.     I  sent  it  to  you." 

"Just  to  prove  whether  I  should  keep  my 
word  or  not  ?  " 

"Yes,"  said  Miranda. 

"  Just  for  your  amusement,  in  a  word  ? ' 

"  Amusement  was  the  word  I  chose." 

"  I  see,  I  see."  His  voice  was  lifeless,  his  face 
dull  and  stony.  Miranda  moved  uneasily  as  she 
watched  him  ;  but  he  did  not  notice  her  movement 
or  regard  her  with  any  suspicion.  His  thoughts 
and  feelings  were  muffled.  He  seemed  to  be 
standing  somewhere  a  long  way  outside  himself 
and  contemplating  the  two  people  here  in  the  room 
with  a  deal  of  curiosity,  and  with  perhaps  a  little 
pity  ;  of  which  pity  the  woman  had  her  share  with 
the  man.  "  I  see,"  he  continued.  "  It  was  all  a 
sham  ?  " 

Miranda  glanced  at  him,  and  from  him  to  the 
glove.  "  Even  the  glove  was  a  sham,"  she  said 
quickly.     "  Look  at  it." 

He  bent  down  and  lifted  it  from  her  knees. 
Then  he  drew  up  a  chair  to  the  table,  sat  down, 
and  examined  the  glove.       Miranda  hitched  her 


xiv  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY  197 

chair  closer  to  the  table,  too,  and  propping  her 
elbows  there,  supported  her  chin  upon  her  hands. 

"  You  see  that  the  glove  is  fresh,"  she  said. 

"It  has  been  worn,"  answered  Charnock.  "The 
ringers  have  been  shaped  by  wearing." 

"  It  was  worn  by  me  for  ten  minutes  in  this 
room  the  day  I  posted  it  to  you." 

"  But  the  tear  ?  "  he  asked  with  a  momentary 
quickening  of  speech. 

"I  tore  it." 

"  I  see."  He  laid  the  glove  upon  the  table. 
"And  the  other  glove  —  the  one  you  wore  that 
night  —  the  one  I  tore  upon  the  balcony  over  St. 
James's  Park  ?  It  was  you  I  met  that  night  in 
London  ?     Or  wasn't  it  ? ' 

The  question  was  put  without  any  sarcasm,  but 
with  the  same  dull  curiosity  which  had  marked  his 
other  questions,  and  on  her  side  she  answered  it 
simply  as  she  had  answered  the  others.  "  Yes,  it 
was  I  whom  you  met,  and  the  glove  you  speak  of 
was  thrown  away." 

It  seemed  that  he  had  come  to  the  end  of  his 
questions,  for  he  sat  for  a  little,  drumming  with  his 
fingers  on  the  table.  Once  he  looked  up  and 
towards  the  window,  as  though  his  very  eyes  needed 
the  relief  of  the  wide  expanse  of  valley. 

"Now  will  you  go?  Please,"  said  Miranda, 
gently,  and  the  next  moment  regretted  that  she 
had  spoken. 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  will  go,"  he  answered.  "I  will  go 
back  to  Algeciras,  and  from  Algeciras  to  England." 
He  was  not  looking  at  her,  and  so  noticed  nothing 
of  the  spasm  of  pain  which  for  a  second  con- 


198  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY  chap. 

vulsed  her  face  at  his  literal  acceptation  of  her 
prayer.  "  But  before  I  go,  tell  me ;  "  and  the 
questions  began  again. 

"  You  say  you  need  no  one  ?  " 

"  No  one." 

"Then  why  did  you  cry  out  a  minute  ago, c  It's 
the  friend  I  want,  not  the  lover '  ?  You  were  not 
amusing  yourself  then.  Why,  too,  did  you  —  this 
afternoon  in  the  garden,  perhaps  you  remember  — 
when  the  flowers  fell  on  to  the  ground  between 
us  ?     Neither  were  you  amusing  yourself  then." 

Miranda  drew  the  glove  away  from  where  it  lay 
in  front  of  him  ;  absently  she  began  to  slip  it  over 
her  hand,  and  then  becoming  aware  of  what  she 
did,  and  of  certain  associations  with  that  action  at 
this  moment,  she  hurriedly  stripped  it  off. 

"  Perhaps  I  have  no  right  to  press  you,"  he 
said  ;  "  but  I  should  like  to  know." 

Miranda  spread  the  glove  out  on  the  table,  and 
carefully  divided  and  spread  out  the  fingers.  "I 
will  tell  you,"  she  said  at  length,  with  something  of 
a  spirt  in  the  quickness  of  her  speech.  "  I  am 
still  capable  of  remorse,  though  very  likely  you 
can  hardly  believe  that.  Do  you  remember,"  she 
began  to  speak  with  greater  ease,  "  when  we  rode 
out  to  Ronda  La  Viega,  I  asked  you  why  you 
never  expressed  what  you  felt  ?  I  was  then  be- 
ginning to  be  afraid  that  you  would  take  my  —  my 
trick  too  much  to  heart  —  that  you  would  really 
think  I  needed  you.  My  fear  became  certain  this 
afternoon,  when  I  —  I  was  putting  the  flower  in 
your  coat.  I  was  sorry  then,  as  you  saw  when  you 
came  into  the  room.     I  was  yet  more  sorry  when 


xiv  MIRANDA    OF    THE    BALCONY  199 

you  spoke  to  me  as  you  did,  for  I  thought  that  if 
you  hadn't  cared,  if  you  had  never  intended  to  be 
more  than  my  friend,  the  trick  would  not  have 
mattered  so  much.  And  that  was  just  what  I 
meant,  when  I  said  it  was  the  friend  I  wanted,  not 
the  lover." 

Charnock  listened  to  the  explanation,  accepted  it 
and  put  it  away  in  his  mind. 

"  I  see,"  he  remarked,  and  her  bosom  rose  and 
fell  quickly.  "All  this  time  you  have  been  just 
playing  with  me  as  you  played  with  Wilbraham 
this  afternoon." 

"  Just  in  the  same  way,"  she  returned  without 
flinching. 

"  Ah,  but  you  dropped  his  flower  down  the 
cliff,"  he  exclaimed  suddenly. 

"  You  forget  that  yours  had  already  fallen  on  to 
the  ground." 

"  Yes,  that's  true,"  and  the  suspicion  died  out 
of  his  face.  "  And  that  basket  of  flowers  ? '  he 
asked. 

This  time,  and  for  the  first  time  since  the  ques- 
tions had  begun,  Miranda  did  flinch.  She  had  a 
great  difficulty  in  answering,  "  It  has  already  been 
sent  off." 

"  To  Gibraltar  ?  "  Miranda's  difficulty  in- 
creased. "  To  whom  at  Gibraltar  ?  A  friend,  a 
man  r 

Miranda's  face  grew  very  white ;  she  tried  to 
speak  and  failed  ;  her  throat,  her  lips,  refused  the 
answer.  "  At  all  events,"  she  managed  to  whisper 
hoarsely,  "  not  to  a  woman,"  and  thereupon  she 
laughed  most  mirthlessly,  till  the  strange,  harsh, 


zoo  MIRANDA    OF    THE    BALCONY  chap. 

strangled  noise  of  it  penetrated  as  something  un- 
familiar to  Charnock's  dazed  mind. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  said  ;  "  I  was  forget- 
ful. I  had  no  right  to  ask  you,"  and  he  rose  from 
his  chair.  She  rose  too.  "  I  am  glad,"  he  con- 
tinued with  a  formal  politeness,  "  that  you  do  not 
after  all  stand  in  need  of  anyone's  help." 

"  Oh,  no,"  she  replied  carelessly,  "  no  one's  ;" 
and  almost  before  she  was  aware,  he  was  holding 
her  wrists,  one  in  each  of  his  hands,  and  with  his 
eyes  he  was  searching  her  face,  silently  interrogat- 
ing her  for  the  truth.  Once  before,  upon  the 
balcony,  he  had  bidden  her  in  just  this  way  answer 
him,  and  now,  as  then,  she  found  herself  under  a 
growing  compulsion  to  obey. 

"  You  hurt  me,"  she  had  the  wit  to  say,  and 
instantly  Charnock  released  her  wrists. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  he,  and  he  walked  to 
the  door.  At  the  door  he  turned.  "  Tell  me,"  he 
said  abruptly, "you  dropped  your  glove  —  not  that 
one  on  the  table,  but  the  other  — just  as  you  stepped 
out  on  to  the  balcony  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  answered,  and  wondered  what  was 
coming. 

"  Was  that  an  accident  ?  " 

Miranda  stepped  back  and  lowered  her  head. 

"  You  remember  everything,"  she  murmured. 

"  Was  it  an  accident  ?  " 

"  You  are  unsparing." 

"  Was  it  an  accident  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  It  was  a  trick,  a  sham  like  all  the  rest? ' 

"Just  like  all  the  rest,"  said   Miranda,  wearily. 


xiv  MIRANDA    OF   THE   BALCONY  201 

"  I  see,"  said  Charnock.     "  Good-bye." 

He  went  out  of  the  room  and  closed  the  door 
behind  him. 

It  was  very  quiet  and  still  in  the  patio.  In  the 
square  of  blue  sky  there  was  no  cloud  ;  the  sun- 
shine poured  into  the  court,  only  in  one  corner 
there  was  a  shadow  climbing  the  wall,  where  there 
had  been  no  shadow  when  he  entered  the  room. 
He  vaguely  wondered  what  the  time  was,  and  then 
someone  laughed.  Someone  above  him.  He 
looked  up.  Jane  Holt  was  leaning  over  the  rail- 
ing of  the  balcony. 

He  made  some  sort  of  remark  ;  and  he  gathered 
from  her  reply  that  he  had  been  asking  why  she 
laughed. 

"Why  did  I  laugh?"  she  said.  "Do  you 
believe  in  affinities  ?  " 

"No,"  he  rejoined.     "Why?" 

She  descended  the  stairs  as  she  answered  him. 

"I  saw  you  standing  in  the  doorway  there  with 
your  hand  on  your  throat,  breathing  hard  and 
quick,  and  altogether  a  very  tragical  picture." 

Charnock  was  not  aware  whether  the  details  were 
true  or  not.     "  Well  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Well,"  she  replied.  "  Do  you  remember  the 
afternoon  you  came  here  ?  I  was  in  that  lounge 
chair.  You  were  shown  into  the  parlour.  You 
did  not  notice  me.  Neither  did  Miranda  when  she 
followed  you.   But  she  stopped  on  the  threshold." 

"  Yes,  I  remarked  it.  She  stopped  for  some 
while.     Well  ?  " 

"Well,  she  stood  just  as  you  were  standing  a 
minute  ago,  in  that  precise  attitude,  with  her  hand 


202  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONT  chap. 

to  her  throat,  breathing  hard  and  quick,  and  with 
a  face  not  less  tragical." 

Charnock's  face  now  at  all  events  ceased  to  look 
tragical.  Jane  Holt  saw  it  brighten  extraordinarily. 
Miranda,  had  she  been  there,  would  not  at  this 
moment  have  complained  of  its  lack  of  expression. 

"  That's  true  ?  "  he  asked  eagerly.  "  What  you 
tell  me  is  true  ?  She  stood  here,  and  in  that  atti- 
tude ? " 

"  Yes." 

"  That's  the  one  point  unexplained.  I  forgot  to 
ask.  She  did  not  refer  to  it.  She  stood  here 
breathing  hard  and  quick,  you  say,  before  she 
entered  the  room — with  all  that  appearance  of 
surprise  —  she  stood  here!  Mere  remorse  does 
not  account  for  that,  does  not  account  for  her 
manner.  On  her  own  showing  it  cannot  account, 
since  the  remorse  was  only  felt  this  afternoon. 
There  is  something  more."  He  was  talking  enig- 
mas to  Miss  Holt,  who  went  into  the  parlour  and 
left  him  in  the  patio  to  talk  to  himself  if  he  would. 
She  was  not  greatly  interested  in  his  relationship 
towards  Miranda.  However,  Charnock  was  not 
the  only  person  to  talk  enigmas  to  her  that  after- 
noon. She  found  Miranda  standing  just  as  Char- 
nock had  left  her.  Miranda  remained  standing, 
with  any  absent  answer  to  Jane  Holt's  remarks, 
until  the  big  outer-doors  clanged  to,  and  made 
the  house  tremble. 

Then  she  started  violently.  The  sound  of  those 
doors  shook  her  as  no  word  or  look  of  Charnock's 
had  done.  Her  ears  magnified  it.  It  seemed  to 
her  that  the  doors  swung  to  from  the  east   and 


xrv  MIRANDA    OF    THE    BALCONY  203 

from  the  west,  clean  across  the  world,  shutting 
Charnock  upon  the  one  side,  and  herself  upon 
the  other.  It  seemed  to  her  too  that  as  they 
clanged  together,  her  heart  was  caught  and 
broken  between   them. 

"  You  were  wrong,  Jane,"  she  said.  "  There 
are  men  who  would  be  friends  if  we  would  only- 
let  them.  Possibly  we  always  find  it  out  too 
late;  I  only  found  it  out  this  afternoon."  The 
clock  struck  the  hour  as  she  was  speaking. 
"  Four  o'clock ;  the  train  for  AJgeciras  leaves 
at  six-fifteen,"  she  said. 


CHAPTER   XV 

IN    WHICH     THE     MAJOR     LOSES     HIS     TEMPER     AND 

RECOVERS     IT 

All  that  evening  Miranda's  imagination  fol- 
lowed the  6.15  train  from  Ronda  to  Algeciras. 
She  looked  at  the  clock  at  half-past  ten.  The 
ferry  would  be  crossing  from  Algeciras  to  Gibral- 
tar, and  no  doubt  Charnock  was  crossing  upon  it. 
She  felt  a  loneliness  of  which  she  had  never  had 
experience.  And  when  she  woke  up  in  the 
morning  from  a  troubled  sleep,  it  was  only  to 
picture  some  stately  mail  steamer  marching  out 
from  Algeciras  Bay.  She  was  conscious  to  the 
full  of  the  irony  of  the  situation.  If  she  had 
only  met  this  man  years  ago,  seven  years  ago  — 
that  regret  was  a  continual  cry  at  her  heart,  and 
not  the  least  part  of  her  loneliness  was  made  up 
from  her  clear  remembrance  of  the  picture  of 
herself  which  she  had  given  him  to  carry  away. 

She  ordered  her  horse  to  be  brought  round 
early  that  morning,  and  rode  out  past  the  hotel 
a  few  minutes  before  nine.  Major  Wilbraham 
saw  her  pass.     He  was  down  betimes  as  a  rule 

204 


chap,  xv      MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY  zo$ 

when  he  stayed  in  a  hotel,  since  it  was  his  habit, 
as  often  as  possible,  to  look  over  the  letters  which 
came  for  the  different  visitors.  The  mere  post- 
mark he  had  known  upon  occasion  to  give  him 
quite  valuable  hints.  There  was  only,  however,  a 
telegram  for  Charnock,  which  he  genially  offered 
to  deliver  himself  and  did  deliver,  running  into 
Charnock's  bedroom  for  that  purpose.  Charnock 
thanked  him  and  read  the  telegram.  It  seemed 
to  raise  his  spirits. 

"  Good  news,  old  friend  ?  "  asked  the  Major. 

"Well — interesting  news,"  replied  Charnock, 
as  he  lathered  his  face. 

"  Well,  you  shall  give  me  it  another  time," 
said  the  Major,  as  he  saw  Charnock  put  the 
telegram  in  his  pocket.     "  So  long  !  " 

The  Major  went  downstairs  and  kept  an  eye 
upon  the  road.  At  ten  o'clock  he  noticed  Mi- 
randa returning  slowly.  He  put  on  his  hat  and 
followed  her.  When  he  reached  the  house  the 
horse  was  still  at  the  door,  but  Miranda  had 
gone  in.  He  observed  that  Charnock  was  hesi- 
tating upon  the  other  side  of  the  road.  Char- 
nock was  in  fact  debating  his  plan  of  action  ;  the 
Major's  was  already  prepared.  The  door  stood 
open.  Wilbraham  put  ceremony  upon  one  side, 
the  more  readily  since  ceremony  would  very  likely 
have  barred  the  door  in  his  face.  He  walked 
straight  into  the  patio  where  Miranda  stood  be- 
fore a  little  wicker  table  drawing  off  her  gloves. 

"Had  a  pleasant  ride?"  said  the  Major. 
"  Nice  horse  ;   I   am  partial  to  roans  myself —  " 

"  What  do  you  want  ?  "  asked  Miranda. 


206  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY         chap. 

"To  so  uncompromising  a  question,  I  must 
needs  give  an  uncompromising  reply.  I  want  one 
thousand  jimmies  per  annum,"  and  the  Major 
bowed  gracefully. 

"  No,"  said  Miranda. 

"  But  excuse  me,  yes,  very  much  yes.  You 
see,  there  is  my  excellent  young  friend,  the 
locomotive-man." 

"  Can't  you  keep  his  name  out  of  the  conver- 
sation ?  "  she  suggested,  but  with  a  dangerous 
quietude  of  voice. 

"  Indeed  no,"  replied  the  Major,  who  was  en- 
tirely at  his  ease.  He  looked  sympathetically  at 
her  face.  "  You  look  pale ;  you  have  not  slept 
well ;  you  are  tired,  and  so  you  do  not  follow 
me.  Charnock  is  my  God  of  the  machine,  a 
blind  unconscious  God  —  shall  we  say  a  Cupid, 
but  a  Cupid  in  the  machine  ?  Let  me  explain  ! 
May  I  be  seated  ?  No  ?  So  sorry !  On  the 
first  night  of  Charnock's  stay  at  Ronda,  I  had 
the  honour  to  follow  him  while  he  took  a  stroll." 

"  You  followed  him  unseen,  of  course  ?  "  said 
Miranda,  contemptuously,  as  she  tossed  her 
gloves  on  to  the  wicker  table. 

"  You  take  me,  you  take  me  perfectly,"  re- 
turned the  Major.  "  I  followed  him  unseen,  a 
habit  of  mine,  and  at  times  a  very  profitable  habit. 
Charnock  walked  —  whither?  Can  you  guess? 
Can't  you  tell  ?  '  He  hummed  with  unabashed 
impertinence.  "  He  walked  down  a  certain  road 
which  winds  down  the  precipice  under  your  win- 
dows. Ah  !  "  —  he  uttered  the  exclamation  in  a 
playful  raillery,  for  Miranda's  hand  had  gone  to 


xv  MIRANDA    OF   THE   BALCONY  207 

her  heart ;  "  he  walked  down  that  road  until  he 
came  to  an  angle  from  which  he  could  see  your 
lighted  window." 

"Show  me,"  said  Miranda,  suddenly.  She 
walked  round  the  patio,  threw  open  the  door  of  her 
parlour,  and  crossed  to  the  window.  The  window 
was  open,  and  the  Major  looked  out.  The  window 
was  in  the  outer  wall  of  the  wing,  and  was  built  on 
the  very  rim  of  the  precipice.  Wilbraham  looked 
straight  down  on  to  the  road. 

"That  was  the  angle,  Mrs.  Warriner,"  said  he, 
pointing  with  his  finger.  "  By  that  heap  of  stones 
he  sat  him  down."  Mrs.  Warriner  leaned  out  of 
the  window  with  something  of  a  smile  parting  her 
lips.  "  At  the  bottom  of  the  bank  he  sat  and 
aspired.     Little  Ambrose  reclined  on  the  top." 

Miranda  turned  from  the  window  abruptly. 
"  Let  us  go  back."  She  returned  to  the  patio  and 
took  her  former  position  by  the  wicker  table. 
Wilbraham,  upon  the  other  side  of  it,  faced  her. 

"  We  could  only  see  the  ceiling  of  the  room," 
he  continued,  "  and  the  shadow  of  your  head. 
But  so  little  contents  an  amorous  engineer.  He 
sighed,  and  what  a  sigh,  and  yet  how  typical ! 
So  hoarse  it  seemed  the  whistle  of  an  engine  ;  so 
deep,  it  surely  came  from  a  cutting.  He  went 
home  singing  beneath  the  stars.  He  did  not 
tread  the  ground.  How  should  he  ?  Love  was 
his  permanent  way." 

Miranda  had  listened  so  far  without  interrup- 
tion, though  the  Major,  had  he  been  less  pleased 
with  his  flowery  description,  might  have  noticed 
something  ominous  in  the  still  depths  of  her  dark 


208  MIRANDA    OF   THE   BALCONY  chap. 

eyes.  "  Mr.  Wilbraham,"  she  said,  "  there  is  a 
little  wicker  table  between  us." 

"  I  see  it." 

"  And  on  the  table  ?  " 

"A  pair  of  gloves." 

"  Not  only  a  pair  of  gloves." 

"  Ah  true  !     A  riding-whip." 

"  I  was  sure  that  you  had  not  noticed  it  before." 

The  Major  picked  it  up  and  examined  the 
mounting  of  the  handle.  "  It  is  very  pretty,"  he 
remarked  with  emphasis,  and  laid  it  down  again. 
"  As  I  was  about  to  say,"  —  he  proceeded  with  his 
argument,  —  "I  thus  obtained  on  the  night  of 
Charnock's  arrival  a  very  clear  knowledge  of  his 
sentiments  towards  you,  while  you,  on  the  other 
hand,  have  been  obliging  enough  to  favour  me 
with  some  hint  of  your  own  towards  him,  not 
merely  this  morning,  when  you  asked  me  to  point 
out  the  precise  point  of  the  road  from  which  he 
worshipped  your  window,  but  yesterday  when,  in 
order  to  give  an  impetus  to  his  bashfulness,  you 
ingeniously  courted  myself.  If  I  were,  then,  at  all 
disposed  to  make  unpleasantness,  you  see  that  all 
I  have  to  do  is  to  walk  out  of  your  house  and 
inform  the  trustful  Charnock  that  Mrs.  Warriner 
is  carefully  concealing  the  existence  of  her  husband 
from  the  man  with  whom  she  is  in  love." 

Miranda  took  up  the  riding-whip.  The  Major 
did  not  give  ground.  If  anything,  he  leaned  a 
little  towards  her.  His  eyebrows  drew  together 
until  they  joined  ;  his  bird-like  eyes  narrowed. 

"Drop  it!  Drop  that  whip,"  he  commanded 
sharply.     "  I  warn  you,  Mrs.  Warriner,      I   have 


xv  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY  209 

dealt  with  you  gently,  though  you  are  a  woman ; 
be  prudent.     What  if  I  took  the  gloves  off?   Eh?" 

"  You  would  place  me  in  a  better  position," 
replied  Miranda,  who  still  held  the  whip,  "  to 
point  out  to  you  that  your  hands  are  not  clean." 

Wilbraham  stepped  back,  stared  at  her,  and 
burst  into  a  laugh.  "  I  will  never  deny  that  you 
are  possessed  of  an  admirable  spirit,"  said  he. 

"  I  would  rather  have  your  threats  than  your 
compliments,"  said  she.  "  For  your  threats  I  can 
answer  with  threats  ;  I  cannot  do  the  same  with 
your  compliments." 

"  Threat  for  threat,  then,"  said  the  Major  ;  "  but 
there's  a  difference  in  the  threats.  You  cannot 
put  yours  into  practice  since  I  have  my  eyes  upon 
the  whip,  whereas  I  can  mine." 

"Can  you  ?"  said  Miranda,  with  a  suspicion  of 
triumph. 

"  I  can,"  returned  the  Major.  "  I  can  walk 
straight  out  of  your  house  and  tell  Luke  Char- 
nock,"  and  he  banged  his  hand  upon  the  table 
and  leaned  over  it.     "  Now  what  do  you  say  ?  " 

"  I  say  that  you  cannot,  for  Mr.  Charnock  is  at 
Gibraltar,  if  he  is  not  already  on  the  sea." 

"  Mr.  Charnock  is  at  Ronda,  and  contemplating 
the  ornaments  of  your  door  at  this  very  moment," 
said  the  Major,  triumphantly. 

But  never  did  a  man  get  less  visible  proofs  of 
his  triumph.  Miranda,  it  is  true,  was  evidently 
startled ;  her  bosom  rose  and  fell  quickly  ;  but 
she  was  pleasurably  startled,  as  her  face  showed. 
For  it  cleared  of  its  weariness  with  a  magical 
swiftness,  the  blood  pulsed  warmly  in  her  cheeks, 


zio  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY         chap. 

her  eyes  sparkled  and  laughed,  her  contemptuous 
lips  parted  in  the  happiest  of  smiles. 

Wilbraham  construed  her  reception  of  his  news 
in  his  own  fashion. 

"  You  may  smile,  my  lady,"  said  he,  brutally. 
"  It's  gratifying  no  doubt  to  have  your  lover  hang- 
ing about  your  doors,  a  wistful  Lazarus  for  the 
crumbs  of  your  favour.  It's  pleasant  no  doubt  to 
transform  a  man  into  a  tame  whipped  puppy-dog. 
There's  not  one  of  you,  from  Eve  to  a  modern 
factory-girl,  but  envies  Circe  her  enchantments, 
and  imitates  them  to  the  best  of  her  ability.  Circes 
—  Circes  in  laced  petticoats  and  open-worked 
stockings  —  to  help  you  in  the  dainty  work  of 
making  a  man  a  beast."  The  Major's  vindictive- 
ness  had  fairly  got  hold  of  him.  "  But  in  the  origi- 
nal story,  if  you  remember,  the  men  resumed  their 
shape;  now  what  if  I  play  Ulysses  in  our  version 
of  the  story  !  —  "  There  was  a  knock  upon  the 
outer  door.  The  Major  paused,  and  continued 
hurriedly  :  "  Do  you  understand  ?  That  knock 
may  have  been  Charnock's.  Do  you  understand  ? 
He  may  be  entering  the  house  at  this  moment." 

"  He  is,"  said  Miranda,  quietly. 

The  Major  listened.  He  distinctly  heard  Char- 
nock's voice  speaking  to  the  servant ;  he  dropped 
his  own  to  a  whisper.  "  Then  what  if  I  told  him, 
your  lover,  now  and  here,  the  truth  about  Ralph 
Warriner  ? " 

"  You  shall,"  said  Miranda. 

Major  Wilbraham  was  completely  taken  aback. 
She  had  spoken  in  no  gust  of  passion,  but  slowly 
and  calmly.     Her  face,  equally  calm,  equally  reso- 


xv  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY  z\\ 

lute,  showed  him  that  she  intended  and  understood 
what  she  had  said.  The  Major  was  in  a  predica- 
ment. The  drawback  to  blackmailing  as  a  pro- 
fession is  that  the  blackmailer's  secret  is  only  of 
value  so  long  as  he  never  tells  it,  his  threats  only 
of  use  so  long  as  they  are  never  enforced ;  and 
here  he  was  in  imminent  danger  of  being  compelled 
to  tell  his  secret  and  execute  his  threat.  If  Char- 
nock  knew  the  truth,  he  would  certainly  lose  his 
extra  three  hundred  per  annum.  Moreover,  since 
Charnock  was  a  man,  and  not  a  woman,  he  would 
very  likely  lose  his  original  seven  hundred  into  the 
bargain.  These  reflections  flashed  simultaneously 
into  the  Major's  mind;  but  already  he  heard 
Charnock's  step  sounding  in  the  passage.  "  I  don't 
wish  to  push  you  too  far,"  he  whispered.  "  To- 
morrow, to-morrow." 

"  No,  to-day,"  said  Miranda,  quietly.  "  You 
shall  tell  my  lover  the  truth  about  Ralph  Warriner, 
and  to  help  you  to  tell  it  him  convincingly  you 
shall  tell  it  with  this  mark  across  your  face." 

Charnock  did  not  see  the  blow  struck,  but  he 
heard  Wilbraham's  cry,  and  as  he  entered  the  patio, 
he  saw  the  wheal  redden  and  ridge  upon  his  face. 
He  stood  still  for  a  second  in  amazement.  Wil- 
braham  had  reeled  back  from  the  table  against 
the  wall,  with  his  coat-sleeve  pressed  upon  his 
smarting  cheeks.  Miranda  alone  seemed  com- 
posed. There  was  indeed  even  an  air  of  relief 
about  her ;  for  she  was  at  last  to  be  lightened  of 
the  deception. 

"  Major  Wilbraham,"  she  said  as  she  dropped 
the  whip  upon  the  table  and  walked  away  to  a 


212  MIRANDA    OF   THE   BALCONY  chap. 

lounge  chair,  "Major  Wilbraham,"  —  she  seated 
herself  in  the  chair  as  though  she  was  to  be  hence- 
forward a  spectator,  — "  Major  Wilbraham  has  a 
confidence  to  make  to  you,"  she  said. 

"  And  by  God  I  have  !  "  snarled  the  Major  as 
he  started  forward.  It  would  be  told  for  a  certain 
thing,  either  by  Mrs.  Warriner  or  himself,  and 
since  the  slash  of  the  whip  burned  intolerably  upon 
his  face,  he  meant  to  do  the  telling  himself. 

"  That  woman's  husband  is  alive." 

Charnock's  face  was  a  mask.  He  did  not  start ; 
he  did  not  even  look  at  Miranda ;  only  he  was 
silent  for  some  seconds.  Then  he  said,  "  Well  ? ' 
and  said  it  in  a  quite  commonplace,  ordinary 
voice,  as  though  he  wondered  what  there  was  to 
make  any  pother  about. 

Miranda  was  startled,  the  Major  utterly  dumb- 
foundered.  His  blow  had  seemingly  failed  to  hurt, 
and  his  anger  was  thereby  redoubled. 

"  A  small  thingr,  eh?"  he  sneered.  "A  hus- 
band  more  or  less  don't  matter  in  these  days  of 
the  sacred  laws  of  passion  ?  Well,  very  likely. 
But  this  husband  is  a  peculiar  sort  of  a  husband. 
He  slipped  out  of  Gibraltar  one  fine  night.  Why? 
Because  he  had  sold  the  plans  of  the  new  Daventry 
gun  to  a  foreign  government,  being  stony." 

"  Well  ? "  said  Charnock,  again. 

"Well,  I  know  where  he  is." 

"  Well  ?  "  asked  Charnock,  for  the  third  time, 
and  with  an  unchanged  imperturbability. 

Wilbraham  suddenly  ceased  from  his  accusations. 
He  looked  at  Miranda,  who  was  herself  looking  on 
the  ground,  and  gently  beating  it  with  her  foot. 


xv  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY  213 

From  Miranda  he  looked  to  Charnock.  Then  he 
uttered  a  long  whistle,  as  if  some  new  idea  had 
occurred  to  him.  "  So  you  are  both  in  the  pretty- 
secret,  are  you  ?  "  he  said,  and  stopped  to  consider 
how  that  supposition  affected  himself.  His  hopes 
immediately  revived.  "  Why,  then,  you  are  both 
equally  interested  in  keeping  it  dark  !  I  can't  say 
but  what  I  am  glad,  for  I  can  point  out  to  you 
precisely  what  I  have  pointed  out  to  Mrs.  Warriner. 
I  have  merely  to  present  myself  at  Scotland  Yard, 
observe  that  Ralph  Warriner  is  alive,  and  mention 
a  port  in  England  where  he  may  from  time  to  time 
be  found,  and  —  do  you  follow  me?  —  there  is 
Ralph  Warriner  laid  by  the  heels  in  a  place  which 
not  even  a  triple-expansion  locomotive,  with  the 
engineer  from  Algeciras  for  the  driver,  will  get  him 
out  of." 

"And  how  does  that  concern  me?"  asked 
Charnock. 

"  The  consequences  concern  you.  It  will  be 
known,  for  instance,  that  Mrs.  Warriner  has  a  real 
live  husband." 

"  I  see,"  said  Charnock.  He  looked  at  Wilbra- 
ham  with  a  curious  interest.  Then  he  spoke  to 
Miranda,  but  without  looking  towards  her  at  all. 
"  It  is  blackmail,  I  suppose?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  she. 

"  It  is  a  claim  for  common  gratitude,"  Wilbra- 
ham  corrected. 

"  What's  the  price  of  the  claim  ? "  asked 
Charnock,   pleasantly. 

"  One  thousand  jimmies  per  annum  is  the 
minimum  figure,"  replied  the  Major,  whose  jaunti- 


214  MIRANDA    OF   THE   BALCONY         chap. 

ness  was  quite  restored.  Since  his  affairs  pro- 
gressed so  swimmingly  towards  prosperity,  he 
was  prepared  to  forgive,  and,  as  soon  as  his 
looking-glass  allowed,  to  forget  that  hasty  slash 
of  the  riding-whip. 

"  And  up  till  now  how  much  have  you 
received  ? "  continued  Charnock,  in  the  same 
pleasant  business-like  voice. 

"  A  beggarly  two  hundred  and  fifty." 

"  Then  if  for  form's  sake  you  will  give  Mrs. 
Warriner  an  I  O  U  for  that  amount  she  can 
wish  you  good-day." 

Wilbraham  smiled  gaily,  and  with  some  con- 
descension. "  Is  it  bluff?  "  said  he.  "  Where's 
the  use  ?  My  dear  Charnock,  I  have  a  full  hand, 
and  —  " 

"  My  dear  Major,"  replied  Charnock,  "  I  hold 
a  royal  straight  flush." 

He  produced  a  telegram  from  his  pocket.  The 
Major  eyed  it  with  suspicion.  "  Is  that  the  tele- 
gram I  brought  into  your  room  this  morning  ? ' 

"  It  is.  To  keep  up  your  metaphor,  you  dealt 
me  my  hand.     Do  you  call  it?  " 

The  Major  cocked  his  head.  Charnock's  ease 
was  so  very  natural ;  his  good  temper  so  complete. 
Still,  he  might  be  merely  playing  the  game ; 
besides,  one  never  knew  what  there  might  be  in  a 
telegram.     "  I  do,"  he  said. 

"  Very  well,"  said  Charnock.  He  sat  down 
upon  a  chair,  and  spread  out  the  telegram  on  his 
knee.  "You  talk  very  airily,  Major,  of  dropping 
in  upon  Scotland  Yard.  Would  it  surprise  you  to 
hear  that  Scotland  Yard  would  welcome  you  with 


xv  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY  215 

open  arms,  for  other  reasons  than  a  mere  gratitude 
for  your  information  ?  " 

The  Major  was  more  than  disappointed ;  he 
confessed  to  being  grieved.  "  I  expected  something 
more  subtle,  I  did  indeed.  Really,  my  dear 
Charnock,  you  are  a  novice  !     Sir,  a  novice." 

"  But  a  novice  with  a  royal  straight  flush. 
Major,  why  have  you  been  living  for  four  months 
at  an  out-of-the-way  and  unentertaining  place  like 
Tar i  fa  ?  " 

"  I  will  answer  you  with  frankness.  I  wished 
to  keep  my  fingers  upon  Mrs.  Warriner.  An 
occasional  tweak  of  the  fingers,  dear  friend,  is  very 
useful  if  only  to  show  that  you  are  awake." 

"  Was  that  the  only  reason  ?  " 

"  No,"  interposed  Miranda.  "  He  wanted  quiet ; 
he  is  translating  Horace." 

The  Major  actually  blushed,  for  the  first  and 
last  time  that  morning.  Accusations,  even  proofs 
of  infamy,  he  could  accept  without  a  stir  of  the 
muscles ;  but  to  be  charged,  perhaps  to  be 
ridiculed,  with  his  one  honourable  project  —  the 
Major  was  hurt. 

"  A  little  mean  ! '  he  said  gently  to  Miranda. 
"  You  will  agree  with  me  when  you  think  it  over. 
A  little  mean  !  " 

"  But  there  was  a  third  reason  beyond  those  two," 
resumed  Charnock.  "  When  I  saw  you  dining  at 
the  hotel  on  the  night  of  my  arrival,  when  I 
remembered  that  you  had  been  living  for  four 
months  at  Tarifa,  where  from  time  to  time  I  had 
the  pleasure  to  come  across  you,  I  began,  for 
reasons  which  there's  no  need  to  explain,  to  wonder 


216  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY  chap. 

whether  you  were  causing  any  trouble  to  Mrs. 
Warriner.  That  night,  too,  if  you  remember,  when 
I  went  for  a  stroll  "  —  here  Charnock  faltered  for  a 
second,  and  Miranda  looked  quickly  up  —  "you 
followed  me,  Major.  When  I  sat  down  at  the  foot 
of  the  bank,  you  crouched  upon  the  top.  You 
made  a  mistake  there,  Major,  for  I  at  once  thought 
it  wise  to  learn  what  I  could  of  your  history  and 
character.  I  accordingly  wrote  a  letter  that  night 
to  a  friend  of  mine,  who  also  happens  to  be  an 
official  at  Scotland  Yard.  His  answer,  you  see, 
comes  by  telegraph,  and  you  will  see  that  a  reply  is 
prepaid." 

He  handed  the  telegram  to  the  Major.  The 
Major  read  it  through  and  glanced  anxiously 
towards  the  door,  taking  up  his  hat  from  the  table 
at  the  same  time. 

"  I  think  so,  too,"  said  Charnock. 
What  does  the  telegram  say  ?  "  asked  Miranda. 
Nothing  definite,  but  every  word  of  it  is 
suggestive,"  answered  Charnock.  "  I  asked  my 
friend  if  he  knew  anything  of  Major  Ambrose 
Wilbraham.  He  wires  me:  '  Yes.  Is  he  at 
Ronda  ? '  and  prepays  the  reply.  If  there's  a 
warrant  already  issued,  Major,  I  don't  think  I 
should  waste  time,  but  you  of  course  are  the  best 

JudSe\ 

"  Did  you  answer  it  ?  "  asked  the  Major. 

"  I   have  not  answered  it  yet.      Do  you  think 

Scotland  Yard  will  wait  for  an  answer?      It  does 

not  interest  me  very  much.     The  one  point  which 

does   interest   me  is  this.     You   are  hardly  in   a 

position  to  enter  into  communication  with  Scotland 


« 

cc 


xv  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY  217 

Yard  in  order  to  revenge  yourself  on  Mrs.  Warriner 
for  not  paying  you  blackmail." 

Major  Wilbraham  tugged  at  his  moustache. 
Hisjauntiness  had  vanished, and  his  face  had  grown 
very  sombre  and  tired  during  the  last  few  minutes. 

"  I  get  nothing,  then  ?  " 

"  Not  one  depreciated  Spanish  dollar." 

There  was  a  knock  at  the  door.  The  Major 
started  ;  he  looked  from  Charnock  to  Miranda,  his 
mouth  opened,  his  eves  widened,  he  became  at 
once  a  creature  scared  and  hunted.  The  door  was 
opened ;  the  three  people  in  the  patio  held  their 
breath  ;  but  it  was  merely  the  postman  with  a 
letter  for  Miranda. 

"  I  must  get  out  of  here,"  said  Wilbraham.  "  I 
must  get  out  of  Ronda.  My  God,  I  have  to  begin 
it  again,  have  I — the  hunt  for  breakfast  and 
dinner  ?  " 

He  showed  a  dangerous  face  at  that  moment. 
His  lips  were  drawn  back  from  his  teeth,  his  eyes 
furtive  and  murderous.  Miranda  felt  very  glad 
of  Charnock's  presence. 

However,  the  Major  mastered  himself.  He 
might  have  taken  some  sort  of  revenge  by  insulting 
Miranda,  on  account  of  her  disposition  towards 
Charnock  ;  but  he  did  not,  and  it  was  not  fear  of 
Charnock  which  restrained  him. 

"  I  go  back  to  the  regiment,  Mrs.  Warriner," 
he  said,  "  the  regiment  of  the  soldiers  of  fortune. 
I  have  had  my  furlough  —  four  months'  furlough. 
I  cannot  complain."  He  endeavoured  to  speak 
gaily  and  to  bow  with  grace. 

"  Good-bye,"  said  Charnock. 


(C 

a 


218  MIRANDA    OF    THE    BALCONY   chap,  xv 

Miranda  was  implacably  silent. 

"  And  they  call  women  the  softer  sex,"  said  the 
Major. 

"  One  moment,"  exclaimed  Miranda,  taking  no 
notice  of  his  remark.  "  Mr.  Wilbraham  has  a 
letter  from  my  husband  about  the  Daventry  gun." 

"It  is  mine,"  answered  the  Major;  "it  was 
written  to  me." 

"  I  will  buy  it,"  said  Charnock. 

"  For  a  thousand  —  ?  " 

"  No ;  for  permission  to  answer  this  prepaid 
telegram  to  Scotland  Yard." 

"  In  your  name  ?  " 
In  my  name." 

You're  not  a  bad  fellow,  Charnock,"  said  the 
Major  as  he  drew  out  his  pocket-book.  He  handed 
the  letter  to  Charnock,  looked  at  him  curiously, 
and  then  laughed  softly,  without  malice. 

"  O  lover  of  my  life  !      O  soldier-saint  !  " 

he  quoted.  "  A  great  poet,  what  ?  Do  you  know 
Ralph  Warriner  ?  Will  you  play  Caponsacchi  to 
his  Guido  ?  You  might ;  very  likely  you  will." 
The  Major  took  the  reply  form  and  turned  away. 

"  It  is  not  always  a  profitable  habit,  it  seems," 
said  Miranda,  "that  habit  of  following." 

"  A  little  mean !  "  said  the  Major,  gently. 
"  Perhaps,  too,  a  little  overdone,"  and  as  he  went 
out  of  the  patio  Miranda  flushed  and  felt  ashamed. 
Then  the  flush  faded  from  her  cheeks  and  left  her 
white,  for  she  was  alone  with  Charnock  and  had  to 
make  her  account  with  him. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

EXPLAINS    WHY    CHARNOCK    SAW     MIRANDA'S     FACE 

IN    HIS    MIRROR 

Miranda  rose  nervously  from  her  chair.  She 
made  an  effort  to  speak,  which  failed,  and  then 
yielding  to  a  peremptory  impulse  she  ran  away.  It 
was  only,  however,  into  her  parlour  that  she  ran, 
and  thither  Charnock  followed  her.  She  stood  up 
rather  quickly  in  the  farthest  corner  of  the  room 
as  soon  as  he  entered,  drew  a  pattern  with  her  foot 
upon  the  floor,  and  tried  to  appear  entirely  at  her 
ease.  She  did  not  look  at  Charnock,  however  ;  on 
the  contrary  she  kept  her  eyes  upon  the  ground, 
and  felt  very  much  like  a  school-girl  who  is  going 
to  be  punished. 

"Your  husband  is  alive."  Charnock's  voice 
was  cold  and  stern.  Miranda  resented  it  all  the 
more  because  she  knew  she  deserved  nothing 
less  than  sternness.  "  Did  you,"  he  continued, 
"learn  that  from  Wilbraham  for  the  first  time  this 
morning  ?  " 

"  No,"  she  answered,  and  since  she  had  found 
her  voice,  she  added  rebelliously,  "  No,  teacher," 

219 


220  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY  chap. 

and  was  at  once  aware  that  levity  was  not  in  the 
best  of  taste.  Charnock  perhaps  was  not  at  that 
moment  in  a  mood  for  jocularities. 

"  How  long  have  you  known  that  your  husband 
was  alive  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Five  months,"  she  answered. 

"  Who  told  you  ?  " 

"You." 

There  was  a  moment's  pause.  Miranda's  foot 
described  more  figures  on  the  floor,  and  with  great 
assiduity. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  Charnock.  "It  is 
very  humorous,  no  doubt,  but  —  " 

"  It  is  true,"  interrupted  Miranda.  "  If  I  had 
wished  to  evade  you,  to  deceive  you,  I  should  have 
answered  that  Mr.  Wilbraham  brought  me  the 
news  this  morning." 

"  I  should  have  disbelieved  it." 

"  You  could  not  at  all  events  have  disproved  it. 
You  would  have  had  not  a  single  word  to  say." 
She  raised  her  eyes  now  and  confronted  him  de- 
fiantly. 

"  Yes,"  said  Charnock,  "  I  admit  that,"  and  a 
great  change  came  over  Miranda.  She  stepped  out 
of  her  corner.  She  raised  her  arms  above  her 
head  like  one  waking  from  sleep.  "  But  I  have 
had  my  fill  of  deceptions.  I  am  surfeited.  Ask 
what  you  will,  I'll  answer  you,  and  answer  you 
the  truth.  And  for  one  thing,  this  is  true  :  you 
told  me  Ralph  Warriner  was  alive,  that  night,  at 
Lady  Donnisthorpe's." 

"  I  told  you  ?     On  the  balcony  ?  " 

"  No,  before.    In  the  ball-room.    You  described 


xvi  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY  221 

him  to  me.  You  quoted  his  phrases.  You  had 
seen  him  that  very  morning.  He  was  the  stranger 
you  quarrelled  with  in  the  streets  of  Plymouth." 

"And  you  knew  him  from  my  description  ! ' 
cried  Charnock.  All  the  anger  had  gone  from  his 
face,  all  the  coldness  from  his  voice.  "  I  remem- 
ber. Your  face  grew  so  white  in  the  shadow  of 
the  alcove  I  should  have  believed  you  had  swooned 
but  for  the  living  trouble  in  your  eyes.  Your  face 
became  through  its  pallor  and  distress  the  face 
which  I  had  seen  in  my  mirror.  Oh,  that  mirror 
and  its  message  !  "  He  broke  into  a  harsh  bitter 
laugh,  and  seating  himself  at  the  table,  beat  upon 
his  forehead  with  his  clenched  fists.  "  A  message 
of  appeal !  A  call  for  help  !  Was  there  ever  such 
a  fool  in  all  the  world  ?  Here's  one  woman  out 
of  all  the  millions  who  needs  my  help,  I  was  vain 
enough  to  think,  and  the  first  thing,  the  only 
thing  that  I  did,  was  to  tell  her  that  her  outcast 
bully  of  a  husband  was  still  alive  to  bully  her. 
A  fine  way  to  help  !  But  I  guessed  correctly  even 
that  night.  Yes,  even  on  that  night  I  was  afraid 
that  I  had  revealed  to  you  some  misfortune  of 
which  you  were  unaware.  Oh,  why  wasn't  I  struck 
dumb  before  I  spoke  ?  But  you  could  not  have 
been  sure  from  my  description,"  he  cried  eagerly, 
grasping  in  his  remorse  at  so  poor  a  straw  as  that 
subterfuge.  "  For  men  are  not  all  unlike,  and 
they  use  the  same  phrases.  You  could  not  have 
been  certain.  You  must  have  had  some  other 
proof  before  you  were  convinced." 

"Yes,  that  is  true." 

"  And  that  other  proof  you  got  from  someone 


222  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY  chap. 

else  ?  "  he  said,  and  his  voice  implored    her    to 
assent. 

Miranda  only  shook  her  head.  "  I  promised  to 
speak  nothing  but  the  truth.  I  got  that  other 
proof  from  you." 

"No,  no,"  he  exclaimed.  "Let  me  think! 
No,  I  told  you  nothing  else  but  just  my  meeting 
with  the  man,  my  quarrel  with  him." 

"  Yes,"  said  Miranda.  "  You  told  me  how 
you  woke  up  from  dreaming  of  Ralph,  and  saw 
my  face  in  your  mirror.  Don't  you  see  ?  There 
is  the  convincing  proof  that  the  man  you  described 
to  me,  the  man  you  quarrelled  with,  the  man 
you  dreamed  of,  was  Ralph,  for  when  you  woke 
with  that  dream  vivid  in  your  mind,  you  saw  my 
face  vivid  in  your  mirror.  You  yourself  were  at  a 
loss  to  account  for  it,  you  had  never  so  much  as 
thought  of  me  during  the  seven  years  since  —  since 
our  eyes  met  at  Monte  Carlo.  You  could  not 
imagine  why  on  that  particular  night,  after  you 
had  dreamed  of  someone  else,  unassociated  with 
me,  my  face  should  have  come  back  to  you.  But 
it  was  no  mystery  to  me.  The  man  you  dreamed 
of  was  not  unassociated  with  me ;  it  was  my 
husband,  and  the  husband  recalled  to  you  the  wife, 
by  an  unconscious  trick  of  memory." 

"  But  I  did  not  know  he  was  your  husband," 
cried  Charnock.  "  I  had  never  seen  him  with 
you ;  I  had  never  seen  him  at  all  before  that 
day  I  quarrelled  with  him  in  the  streets  of 
Plymouth." 

"You  had,"  answered  Miranda,  gently.  "He 
was  with  me  that  night  at  Monte  Carlo  seven  years 


xvi  MIRANDA    OF    THE    BALCONY  223 

ago.  We  were  on  our  honeymoon,"  she  added, 
with  a  queer  melancholy  smile. 

Charnock  remembered  the  look  of  happiness 
upon  her  young  face,  and  compared  it  with  the 
tired  woman's  face  which  he  saw  now.  "  He  was 
with  you  !  "  he  exclaimed. 

"  Yes.  You  forgot  us  both.  You  met  him 
again ;  you  did  not  remember  that  you  had  ever 
seen  him,  but  none  the  less,  the  memory  was 
latent  in  you,  and  recalled  me  to  you  too.  You 
could  not  trace  the  association,  but  it  was  very 
clear  to  me." 

"  Wait,  wait ! '  said  Charnock.  He  sat  with 
his  elbows  on  the  table  and  the  palms  of  his  hands 
tightly  pressed  upon  his  eyes.  "  I  can  see  you,  as 
clearly  as  I  saw  you  then  at  Monte  Carlo,  as 
though  you  were  standing  there,  now,  in  the  room 
and  I  in  the  room  was  watching  you.  You  were  a 
little  apart  from  the  table,  you  were  standing  a  few 
feet  behind  the  croupier  at  one  end  of  the  table. 
But  Ralph  Warriner !  Was  he  amongst  the 
players  ?     Wait !      Let  me  think  !  " 

Charnock  remained  silent.  Miranda  did  not 
interrupt  him,  and  in  a  little  he  began  again, 
piecing  together  his  memories,  re  vivifying  that  scene 
in  the  gambling-room  seven  years  ago.  "  I  can  see 
the  lamps  with  their  green  shades,  I  can  see  the  glow 
of  light  upon  the  green  table  beneath  the  lamps.  I 
can  see  the  red  diamond,  the  yellow  lines  upon  the 
cloth,  the  three  columns  of  numbers  in  the  middle, 
the  crowd  about  the  table,  some  seated,  others 
leaning  over  their  chairs.  But  their  faces  !  Their 
faces!"   and  then  he  suddenly  cried  out,  "Ah! 


224  MIRANDA    OF    THE    BALCONY  chap. 

He  was  seated,  in  front  of  you,  next  to  the  croupier. 
You  were  behind  him,"  and  in  his  excitement  he 
reached  out  his  arm  towards  her,  and  with  shaking 
fingers  bade  her  speak. 

"  Yes,"  said  she,  "  I  was  behind  him." 
"You  moved  to  him.  I  understand  now.  His 
back  was  towards  me  at  the  first  —  when  I  first  saw 
you,  when  our  eyes  met.  It  was  that  vision  of  you, 
the  first,  which  I  carried  away,  it  was  that  only 
which  I  remembered — you  standingalone  there.  It 
was  that  which  came  back  to  me  when  I  saw  your 
face  in  my  mirror,  just  the  picture  of  you  as  you 
stood  alone,  distinct  from  the  flowers  in  your  hat 
to  the  tip  of  your  shoe,  before  you  moved  to  the 
table,  before  you  laid  your  hand  on  Ralph  War- 
riner's  shoulder,  before  he  turned  to  answer  you 
and  so  showed  me  his  face.  I  remember,  indeed. 
I  saw  his  hand  first  of  all.  It  was  reached  out 
holding  his  stake.  I  can  even  remember  that 
he  laid  his  stake  on  impare  and  then  he  turned 
to  you.  Yes,  yes,  it's  true,"  and  Charnock 
rose  from  the  table  in  his  agitation,  and  walked 
once  or  twice  across  the  room.  "  It  was  Ralph 
Warriner  I  met  at  Plymouth,  and  because  of 
that  trivial,  ridiculous  quarrel,  I  told  you  that  he 
lived  ! " 

He  stopped  suddenly  in  front  of  the  writing- 
table,  and  stood  staring  out  through  the  window, 
while  his  fingers  idly  played  with  a  newspaper 
which  lay  upon  the  desk. 

"  But  Major  Wilbraham,"  said  Miranda,  think- 
ing to  lessen  his  remorse,  "  Major  Wilbraham 
told  me  too,  and  only  a  month  later ;  he  came 


xvi  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY  225 

to  me  in  the  Cathedral  at  Roncia  here,  and  told 
me.      He  would  have  told  me  in  any  case." 

"Wilbraham!"  said  Charnock.  '"Yes,  that's 
true.  How  did  he  find  out  ?  Who  told  Wilbra- 
ham ?  "  and  he  turned  eagerly  towards  Miranda. 

Miranda  stammered  and  faltered.  She  had  not 
foreseen  the  question,  and  she  tried  to  evade  it. 
"  He  found  out.  He  used  his  wits.  He  saw 
there  was  profit  in  the  discovery  if  he  could  —  " 

"  If  he  could  make  the  discovery.  I  understand 
that ;  but  how  did  he  make  the  discovery  ? ' 

"Why,  what  does  it  matter?"  cried  Miranda. 
"  He  followed  up  a  clue." 

Charnock  noticed  her  hesitation,  her  effort  to 
evade  his  question.  "  But  who  gave  him  the 
clue  ?  " 

Miranda  moved  restlessly  about  the  room.  "  He 
set  his  wits  to  work  —  he  found  out,"  she  repeated. 
She  sat  down  in  the  same  chair  in  which  Charnock 
had  sat.  "  W7hat  does  it  matter  ?  "  she  said,  and 
even  as  Charnock  had  done,  she  pressed  her  hands 
upon  her  face. 

"  You  promised  me  to  answer  truly  whatever 
question  I  put  to  you,"  said  he,  who,  the  more 
she  hesitated,  was  the  more  resolved  to  know.  "  I 
ask  you  this  question.     Who  gave  him  the  clue  ? ' 

"  Since  you  will  have  it  then,"  —  Miranda  drew 
her  hands  from  her  face,  —  "  my  poor  friend,  you 
did,"  she  answered  gently. 

Charnock  was  more  than  startled.  His  face 
changed.  There  was  something  even  of  horror 
in  his  eyes  as  he  leaned  across  the  table  towards 
her.      "I?"  he  gasped.     "I  did?" 


226  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY  chap. 

"  I  would  have  spared  you  the  knowledge  of 
that,"  she  said  with  a  smile,  "if  only  you  would 
have  allowed  me  to ;  but  you  would  not.  You 
pointed  out  to  him  a  brigantine,  which  you  passed 
off  Ushant." 

"  Yes,  the  Tarifa." 

"  The  Tarifa  was  once  the  Ten  Brothers,  Ralph's 
yacht  which  was  supposed  to  have  been  wrecked 
on  Rosevear." 

"  But  the  Ten  Brothers  was  a  schooner,"  urged 
Charnock.  "I  was  told  only  a  few  weeks  ago  at 
Gibraltar  —  one  of  the  Salcombe  —  oh  yes,  that's 
true  too.  I  suggested  to  Wilbraham  —  to  Wilbra- 
ham  who  said  he  was  familiar  with  the  look  of  the 
boat  —  I  suggested  to  him  that  the  Tarifa  was 
one  of  the  Salcombe  clippers." 

"  Yes.  Wilbraham  had  known  Ralph  at  Gib- 
raltar, had  seen  the  Ten  Brothers,  very  likely  had 
been  aboard  of  her.  That  was  why  the  look  of 
the  Tarifa  was  familiar  to  him.  When  you  told 
him  the  Tarifa  was  a  Salcombe  boat  he  under- 
stood why  it  was  familiar.  It  was  the  merest  clue  ; 
but  he  followed  it  up  and  found  out." 

"  And  blackmailed  you  !  "  continued  Charnock. 

He  turned  back  to  the  writing-table  and  the 
window.  Again  his  ringers  played  idly  with  the 
newspaper.  For  a  while  he  was  silent;  then  he 
said  slowly,  "  Do  you  remember  what  you  said  to 
me  on  the  balcony  ?  That  no  man  could  offer  a 
woman  help  without  doing  her  a  hurt  in  some 
other  way." 

"  I  spoke  idly,"  interrupted  Miranda. 

"You  spoke  very  truly,  for  here's  the  proof." 


xvi  MIRANDA    OF    THE    BALCONY  227 

"  I  spoke  to  elude  you,"  said  Miranda,  stub- 
bornly. "  It  was  a  mere  idle  fancy  which  came  into 
my  head,  and  the  next  moment  was  forgotten." 

"But  I  remembered  it,"  cried  Charnock.  "It 
was  more  true  than  you  thought." 

"  It  was  no  more  true  than"  —  she  hesitated. 
However,  Charnock  was  not  looking  at  her ;  she 
found  it  possible  to  proceed  —  "  than  another  belief 
which  led  me  astray,  as  this  one  is  leading  you." 

"What  other  belief?  " 

Miranda  nerved  herself  to  answer  him.  "  That 
no  man  would  serve  a  woman  well,  except  for  — 
for  the  one  reason." 

The  nature  of  that  reason  was  apparent  to 
Charnock  from  the  very  tone  in  which  she  spoke 
the  word.  "  And  you  believed  that  ?  '  he  asked. 
In  a  movement  of  surprise  he  had  knocked  the 
newspaper  off  the  writing-table.  Underneath  the 
newspaper  was  a  book. 

"  I  did  believe  it,"  she  replied,  her  face  rosy 
with  confusion,  "  for  a  few  mad  miserable  days," 
and  she  checked  herself  suddenly,  for  she  saw 
that  Charnock  had  absently  opened  and  was 
absently  turning  over  the  leaves  of  the  book. 

"  Was  the  message  of  your  mirror  after  all  so 
false?  '  she  whispered.  He  turned  towards  her, 
with  a  face  quite  illumined.  He  did  not,  how- 
ever, leave  the  table,  and  he  kept  the  pages  of 
the  book  open   with   his  fingers. 

"  Then  after  all  you  do  need  help  ?  '    he  cried. 

"  Need  it  ?  '  she  returned  with  a  loud  cry,  and 
she  stretched  out  hands  across  the  table  towards 
him.  "  Indeed,  indeed  I  need  it,  I  desperately 
need  it !     I  sent  the  glove  because  I  needed  it." 


228  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONT  chap. 


(< 


Then  the  glove  was  no  sham  ? ' 

"  It  was  not  the  glove  that  you  tore  ;  that  was 
thrown  away,  but  not  by  me.  I  searched  for  it, 
it  was  not  to  be  found.  So  I  tore  the  other  and 
sent  it  as  a  substitute." 

"  And  when  I  came,  waited  to  discover,"  he 
added,  "  whether  the  one  reason  held  me  to 
your  service.     I   understand." 

"  You  see,"  she  agreed,  "  really,  in  my  heart, 
all  the  time  I  trusted  you,  for  I  knew  you 
would  keep  your  word.  I  knew  you  would  say 
nothing,  but  would  just  wait  and  wait  until  I 
told  you  what  it  was   I   needed  done." 

Charnock  turned  abruptly  towards  her,  and  as 
he  turned  the  book  slipped  off  the  table  and  fell 
to  the  ground.  "  But  yesterday,"  he  exclaimed 
in  perplexity,  "yesterday,  here  in  this  room,  I 
gave  you  the  assurance  which  you  looked  for. 
You  believed  a  man  would  only  help  you  for 
the  one  reason.  Well,  I  told  you  that  the  one 
reason  held  with  me ;  yet,  at  that  moment,  you 
rejected  all  help  and  service.  You  cried  out, 
'  It's  the  friend  I  want,  not  the  lover.'  " 

"  Because  just  at  that  moment  I  understood  that 
my  belief  was  wrong.  I  understood  the  shame, 
the  horror,  of  the  tricks  I  had  played  on  you." 

"  Tricks  ?  "  said  Charnock.  "  Oh  !  "  and  as 
he  stooped  down  to  pick  up  the  book  he  added 
in  a  voice  of  comprehension,  "  At  last !  You 
puzzled  me  yesterday  when  you  said,  '  To  pos- 
sess the  friend  you  had  had  to  make  the  lover.'  " 

"  Yes,"  she  said  eagerly,  "  you  understand  ?  I 
want  you  to.  I  want  you  to  understand  to  the 
last  letter,  so  that  you  may  decide  whether  you 


xvi  MIRANDA    OF   THE   BALCONY  229 

will  help  me  or  not,  knowing  what  the  woman 
is  who  asks  your  help.  I  sat  down  to  trick  you 
into  caring  for  me  if  by  any  means  I  could.  I 
did  it  deliberately,  how  deliberately  you  will  see 
if  you  only  open  the  book  you  hold.  And  it 
wasn't  until  I  had  won  that  I  realised  that  I 
had  cheated  to  win  and  could  not  profit  by  the 
gains.  I  won  yesterday  and  yesterday  I  sent 
you  away.      Perhaps   God  kept  you  here." 

Charnock  made  no  answer.  He  sat  down  at 
the  table  opposite  to  Miranda  and  turned  over 
the  leaves  of  the  book,  whilst  Miranda  watched 
him,  holding  her  breath.  He  was  not  angry  yet, 
but  she  dreaded  the  moment  when  he  should 
understand  the  subject-matter  of  the  book. 

The  book  was  a  collection  of  letters  written 
by  a  great  French  lady  at  the  Court  of  Louis 
XV.  to  a  young  girl-relative  in  Provence,  and 
the  letters  were  intended  to  serve  as  a  guide  to 
the  girl's  provincial  inexperience.  There  was 
much  sage  instruction  as  to  the  best  methods 
of  handling  men,  "  ces  animaux  effroyables,  dont 
nous  ne  pouvons  ni  ne  voudrons  nous  debarras- 
ser,"  as  the  great  lady  politely  termed  them.  In 
the  margin  of  the  book  Miranda's  pencil  had 
scored  lines  against  passages  here  and  there. 
Charnock  read  out  one  :  — 

"  Et  prends  bien  garde  de  tellement  diriger  la 
conversation  qu'il  parle  beaucoup  de  lui-meme." 

"That  accounts  for  the  history  of  my  life 
which  I  gave  you  in  your  garden,"  said  Charnock. 
He  was  not  angry  yet;  he  was  even  smiling. 

"  Yes,"  said  Miranda,  seriously  ;  "  but  there's 
worse  !     Go  on  !  " 


230  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY         chap. 

"  Soyez  sage,  ma  mie,"  he  read,  turning  over 
a  page.  "  On  ne  possede  jamais  un  de  ces  ani- 
maux  sans  qu'on  peut  bien  disposer  d'un  autre. 
Celui  que  tu  aimes,  t'aimera  aussi  si  tu  fais  la 
cour  a  un  deuxieme.  lis  ont  bien  tort  qui  disent 
qu'il  ne  faut  que  deux  pour  faire  l'amour.  II  faut 
au  moins  trois." 

"  That  accounts  for  Wilbraham,  and  the  bas- 
ket of  flowers  for  Gibraltar." 

"  For  Wilbraham,  yes,"  said  Miranda. 

Charnock  did  not  notice  that  she  excluded  the 
basket  of  flowers  from  her  assent.  He  read  out 
other  items,  still  without  any  appearance  of  an- 
ger. A  foot  carelessly  exhibited  and  carefully 
withdrawn,  the  young  lady  in  the  country  was 
informed,  might  kick  a  hole  in  any  male  heart, 
so  long  as  the  foot  was  slim,  and  the  shoe  all 
that  it  should  be.  Charnock  closed  the  book 
and  sat  opposite  to  Miranda  with  a  laughing 
face,  enjoying  her  intense  earnestness. 

"So  you  won  by  cheating?"  he  said,  "and 
this  book  taught  you   how  to  cheat  ?  " 

"Yes,  but  I  don't  think  you  have  grasped  it," 
she  replied  seriously,  "  and  I  want  you  to.  I  want 
you  to  understand  the  horrible,  hateful  way  in 
which  I  made  you  care  for  me.  I  now  know  that 
I  ought  to  have  relied  upon  your  friendship  when 
you  first  came  to  Ronda.  But  I  chose  the  worse 
part,  and  if  you  say  that  you  will  not  help  me, 
why,  I  must  abide  by  it,  and  Ralph  must  abide  by 
it  too.  But  there  shall  be  nothing  but  truth 
now  between  you  and  me.  I  was  not  content  with 
friendship,  I  had  the  time  I  knew  to  try  to  make 
you  care  for  me  in  the  other  way,  and  I   did  try 


xvi  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY  231 

hatefully,  and  hatefully  I  succeeded  — "  and  to 
Miranda's  surprise  Charnock  leaned  back  in  his 
chair,  and  laughed  loudly  and  heartily  for  a  long 
while.  The  more  perplexed  Miranda  looked,  the 
more  he  laughed. 

"  Believe  me,  Mrs.  Warriner,"  he  said,  and 
stopped  to  laugh  again,  "  if  I  had  met  you  for  the 
first  time  at  Ronda,  I  should  have  taken  the  first 
train  back  to  Algeciras.  Your  tricks!  I  noticed 
them  all,  and  they  drove  me  wild  with  indig- 
nation." 

"  Do  you  mean  that?  "  exclaimed  Miranda,  and 
her  downcast  face  brightened. 

"  I  do  indeed,  "  answered  Charnock.  "  Oh, 
your  tricks  !  I  almost  hated  you  for  them."  He 
began  to  laugh  again  as  he  recollected  them. 

"  I  am  so  glad,"  replied  Miranda,  in  the  prettiest 
confusion,  and  as  Charnock  laughed,  in  a  little 
her  eyes  began  to  dance  and  she  laughed  too. 

"  Shall  I  tell  you  what  kept  me  at  Ronda  ?  "  he 
said.  "  Because,  in  spite  of  yourself,  every  now 
and  then  yourself  broke  through  the  tricks. 
Because,  however  much  you  tried,  you  could  not 
but  reveal  to  me,  now  and  then,  some  fleeting 
glimpse  of  the  woman  who  once  stood  beside  me 
in  a  balcony  and  looked  out  over  the  flashing 
carriage-lights  to  the  quiet  of  St.  James's  Park.  It 
was  in  memory  of  that  woman  that  I  stayed." 

He  was  speaking  with  all  seriousness  now,  and 
Miranda  uttered  a  long  trembling  sigh  of  gratitude. 
"  Thank  you,"  she  said,  "  thank  you." 

"  Now  what  can  I  do  for  you  ?  "  he  asked,  and 
Miranda  made  haste  to  reply. 


CHAPTER   XVII 

SHOWS    HOW    A    TOMBSTONE    MAY    CONVINCE    WHEN 
ARGUMENTS    FAIL 

She  showed  him  the  scribbled  note  which  M. 
Fournier  had  brought ;  she  told  him  M.  Fournier's 
story;  how  that  Ralph  had  run  guns  and  ammu- 
nition from  England  into  Morocco  on  board  the 
Tarifa;  how  that  he  had  been  kidnapped  between 
M.  Fournier's  villa  and  the  town-gate ;  how  that 
he  was  not  held  to  ransom,  since  no  demand  for 
ransom  had  come  to  the  little  Belgian  ;  and  finally 
how  that  it  was  impossible  to  apply  for  help  to 
the  Legation,  since  Ralph  was  already  guilty  of  a 
crime,  and  would  only  be  rescued  that  way  in 
order  to  suffer  penal  servitude  in  England. 

"  What  a  coil  to  unravel !  "  said  Charnock.  "  I 
know  some  Arabic.  I  could  go  to  Morocco.  I 
went  there  once,  but  only  to  Tangier.  But 
Morocco  ?  How  shall  one  search  Morocco  with- 
out a  clue  ?  " 

He  rested  his  chin  upon  his  hand,  and  stared 
gloomily  at  the  wall.  Miranda  was  careful  not 
to  interrupt  his  reflections.  If  there  was  a  way 
out,  she  confidently  relied  upon  this  man  to  find  it. 

232 


chap,  xvn   MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY  233 

Once  she  shivered,  and  Charnock  looked  in- 
quiringly towards  her.  She  was  gazing  at  the 
soiled  note  which  lay  beneath  her  eyes  upon  the 
table,  and  saw  again  the  picture  of  Ralph  being 
beaten  inland  under  the  sun.  She  began  to  re- 
call his  acts  and  words,  that  she  might  make 
the  best  of  them  ;  she  fell  to  considering  whether 
she  had  not  herself  been  in  a  measure  to  blame  for 
the  shipwreck  of  their  marriage.  And  so,  thinking 
of  such  matters,  she  absently  hummed  over  a  tune, 
a  soft  plaintive  little  melody  from  an  opera-bouffe. 
She  ended  it  and  hummed  it  over  again  ;  until  it 
came  upon  her  that  Charnock  had  been  silent  for 
a  long  time,  and  she  looked  up  from  the  note  into 
his  face. 

He  was  not  thinking  out  any  plan.  He  was 
watching  her  with  a  singular  intentness,  his  head 
thrust  forward  from  his  shoulders,  his  face  very 
strained.  It  seemed  that  every  fibre  of  his  body  lis- 
tened and  was  still,  so  that  it  might  hear  the  better. 

"  Who  taught  you  that  tune  ?  "  he  asked  in  a 
voice  of  suspense. 

"  Ralph,"  said  she,  in  some  surprise  at  the  ques- 
tion ;  "  at  least  I  picked  it  up  from  him." 

And  Charnock  fell  back  in  his  chair  ;  he  huddled 
himself  in  it,  he  let  his  chin  drop  upon  his  breast. 
He  sat  staring  at  her  with  eyes  which  seemed  sud- 
denly deep-sunk  in  a  face  suddenly  grown  white. 
And  slowly,  gradually,  it  broke  in  upon  Miranda 
that  he  held  the  clue  after  all,  that  that  tune 
was  the  clue,  that  in  a  word  Charnock  knew  how 
Ralph  had  disappeared. 

"  You  know  !  "  she  cried  in  her  elation.     "  You 


234  MIRANDA    OF    THE    BALCONY         chap. 

know !  Oh,  and  I  sent  you  away  yesterday  ! 
What  if  you  had  gone  !  Only  to  think  of  it ! 
You  know  !  That  tune  has  given  you  the  clue  ? 
It  was  Ralph's  favourite  !  You  heard  it — when  ? 
Where  ?     Tell  me  !" 

To  her  eager,  joyous  questions  Charnock  was 
silent.  He  did  not  move.  He  still  sat  huddled 
in  his  chair,  with  his  chin  fallen  on  his  breast,  and 
his  eyes  fixedly  staring  at  her.  Miranda's  en- 
thusiasm was  chilled  by  his  silence ;  it  was  suc- 
ceeded by  fear.  She  became  frightened;  she 
picked  up  the  note  and  held  it  out  to  him  and 
bade  it  speak  for  her. 

Charnock  did  not  take  the  note  or  change  his 
position.      But  he  said  :  — 

"  Even  on  your  honeymoon,  you  see,  he  left  you 
to  stand  alone,  while  he  gambled  at  the  tables." 
But  you   mustn't  think  of  that,"  she  cried. 

It's  so  small  a  thing." 

"  But  so  typical,"  added  Charnock,  quietly. 

Miranda  gave  a  moan  and  held  her  head  between 
her  hands.  That  Charnock  might  refuse  to  help 
her,  because  with  tears  in  her  eyes  she  had  played 
the  sedulous  coquette,  she  had  been  prepared  to 
acknowledge.  But  that  he  would  refuse  to  help, 
out  of  a  mistaken  belief  that,  by  refusing  to  help, 
he  was  helping  best  —  that  supposition  had  not  so 
much  as  occurred  to  her. 

"  Read  the  note  again,"  she  implored  him.  "Do 
quickly  what  you  can!  And  see,  it  is  a  week  and 
more  since  M.  Fournier  was  here.  It  is  a  fort- 
night and  more  since  Ralph  was  kidnapped  in  the 
Sok.   Quickly  !  And  nothing  is  done,  and  nothing 


it 


xvn  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY  235 

will  be  done,  unless  you  do  it.  Oh,  think  of  him  — 
driven,  his  hands  tied,  beaten  with  sticks,  sold  for 
a  slave  to  trudge  with  loads  upon  his  back,  bare- 
footed, through  Morocco!  You  will  go,"  and  her 
voice  broke  and  was  very  tender  as  she  appealed  to 
him.  "Please!  You  will  have  pity  on  me,  and 
on  him."  And  she  watched  Charnock's  face  for  a 
sign  of  assent,  her  heart  throbbing,  her  foot  beat- 
ing the  ground,  and  every  now  and  then  a  queer 
tremulous  moan  breaking  from  her  dry  lips. 

Charnock,  however,  did  not  soften  at  the 
imagined  picture  of  Ralph's  misfortunes,  and  he 
hardened  his  heart  against  the  visible  picture  of 
her  distress. 

"  When  I  was  at  Algeciras,  I  asked  many  ques- 
tions about  Ralph  Warriner.  I  listened  to  many 
answers,"  he  said  curtly. 

"  Exaggerated  answers,"  she  returned,  and  as 
Charnock  opened  his  mouth  to  reply,  she  has- 
tened to  continue:  "Listen!  Listen!  Here's 
the  strange  thing !  Not  that  I  should  need  help, 
not  that  you  should  help  me,  not  that  I  should 
come  to  you  for  help.  Those  three  things  —  they 
are  most  natural.  But  that  coming  to  you,  I 
should  come  to  the  one  man  who  can  help,  who 
already  knows  the  way  to  help.  Don't  you  under- 
stand ?  It  is  very  clear  to  me.  You  were  meant  to 
help,  to  help  me  in  this  one  trouble,  so  you  were 
shown  the  means  whereby  to  help."  And  seeing 
Charnock  still  impenetrable,  she  burst  out :  "  Oh, 
he  will  not  help  !  He  will  not  understand  !  "  and 
she  took  to  considering  how  it  was  that  he  knew, 
how  it  was  that  he  recognised  the  tune. 


236  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY  chap. 

"  You  were  in  Tangier  once,"  she  argued.  "Yes. 
You  told  me  that  not  only  to-day,  but  at  Lady 
Donnisthorpe's.      You  crossed  from  Gibraltar  ?' 

"  Yes,  just  before  I  came  to  England  and  met 
you." 

"Just  before!  Still  you  won't  understand? 
You  find  out  somehow  —  somehow  in  Tangier  you 
come  across  a  tune,  an  incident,  something.  Im- 
mediately after  you  meet  a  woman,  at  the  first 
sight  of  whom  you  offer  her  your  succour,  and  the 
time  comes  when  she  needs  it,  and  that  one  in- 
cident you  witnessed  just  before  you  met  her  gives 
you,  and  you  alone  in  all  the  world,  the  opportunity 
to  help  her.  Don't  you  remember,  when  you  first 
were  introduced  at  Lady  Donnisthorpe's,  what  was 
your  first  feeling  —  one  of  disappointment,  because 
I  did  not  seem  to  stand  in  any  need  ?  Well,  I  do 
stand  in  need  now  —  and  now  you  turn  away.  And 
for  my  sake  too  !  Was  there  ever  such  a  tangle  ! 
Such  a  needless  irony  and  tangle,  and  all  because  a 
man  cannot  put  a  woman  from  his  thoughts  ! ': 
And  then  she  laughed  bitterly  and  harshly,  and  so 
fell  back  again  upon  her  guesses. 

"You  were  in  Tangier  —  how  long?' 

"  For  a  day." 

"When  ?  Never  mind  !  I  know.  I  met  you  in 
June.  You  were  in  Tangier  for  a  day  in  May. 
In  May  !  "  she  repeated,  and  stopped.  Then  she 
uttered  a  cry.  "  May,  that  was  the  month. 
M.  Fourniersaid  May.  You  were  the  man,"  and 
leaning  forward  she  laid  a  clutching  hand  upon 
Charnock's  arm,  which  lay  quiet  on  the  table. 
"  You  were  the  unknown  man  who  cried  c  Look 


xvii  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY  237 

out!'  through  the  closed  door  of  M.  Fournier's 
shop." 

Charnock  started.  He  was  prepared  to  deny  the 
challenge,  if  assent  threatened  to  disclose  his  clue. 
But  it  did  not.  M.  Fournier  knew  nothing  of  the 
blind  beggar  at  the  cemetery  gate  where  Charnock 
had  first  heard  the  comic  opera  tune  and  registered 
it  in  his  memory.  That  was  evident,  since  in  all 
M.  Fournier's  story,  there  was  no  mention  any- 
where of  Hassan  Akbar. 

"Yes,"  he  admitted.     "  It  was  I." 

"  And  you  shouted  it  not  as  a  menace  —  so 
M.  Fournier  thought  and  was  wrong  —  but  as  a 
warning  to  Ralph,  my  husband,  whom  you  will  not 
speak  a  word  to  save.  You  spoke  a  word  then,  very 
likely  you  saved  him  then.  Well,  do  just  as  much 
now.  I  ask  no  more  of  you.  Only  speak  the 
word  !  Tell  me  the  clue,  I  myself  will  follow  it 
up.  Oh,  he  will  not  speak  !  "  and  in  her  agitation 
she  rose  up  and  paced  the  room. 

Charnock  rose  too.  Miranda  flew  to  the  door 
and  leaned  her  back  against  it. 

"Just  for  a  moment !  Listen  to  what  M.  Fournier 
said  !  He  said  that  if  once  we  could  lay  our  hands 
upon  the  man  who  shouted  through  the  door,  we 
should  lay  our  hands  upon  the  means  to  rescue 
Ralph.  Think  how  truly  he  spoke,  in  a  truer 
sense  than  he  intended.  You  know  why  he  dis- 
appeared. You  know  who  captured  him.  And  if 
you  don't  speak,  I  shall  have  no  peace  until  I  die," 
and  she  sat  herself  again  at  the  table. 

"Do  you  still  care  for  him?  "  asked  Charnock, 
with  some  gentleness. 


238  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY         chap. 

Miranda,  who  was  wrought  almost  to  frenzy, 
drummed  upon  the  table  with  her  clenched 
fists. 

"  Must  we  debate  that  question  while  Ralph — " 
Then  she  mastered  herself.  "  I  know  you," 
she  said.  "  K  I  were  to  tell  you  that  I  loved 
him  heart  and  soul,  you  would  go  upon  this  errand, 
straight  as  an  arrow,  for  my  sake.  But  I  promised 
there  should  be  nothing  but  truth  between  you 
and  me.  I  do  not  love  him.  Now,  will  you  go 
to  Morocco  ?  Or,  if  you  will  not  go,  will  you 
speak  ?  " 

"  No.  Let  him  stay  there  !  Where  he  cannot 
harm  you.  What  if  I  was  meant  to  keep  you  from 
rescuing  him  ?  " 

"  You  do  not  know,"  she  replied.  "  You  can 
do  me  no  greater  service  than  by  rescuing  Ralph, 
by  bringing  him  back  to  me.  Will  you  believe 
that  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  he,  calmly,  and  she  rose  from  her 
chair. 

"  But  if  I  proved  it  to  you?  " 

"  You  cannot." 

"I  will." 

She  looked  at  the  clock. 

"  It  is  four  o'clock,"  she  said.  "  Two  hours  and 
a  quarter  before  the  train  leaves  for  Algeciras. 
Will  you  meet  me  on  the  platform  ?  I  had  thought 
to  spare  myself —  this.  But  you  shall  have  the 
proof.  I  will  not  tell  you  of  it,  but  I  will  show  it 
to  you  to-morrow  at  Gibraltar." 

She  spoke  now  with  great  calmness.  She  had 
hit  upon  the  means  to  persuade.     She  was  con- 


xvii  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY  239 

vinced  that  she  had,  and  he  was  afraid  that  she 
had. 

"Very  well,"  said  he.  "The  6.15  for  Alge- 
ciras. 

They  travelled  to  Gibraltar  that  night.  Miranda 
stayed  at  the  Bristol,  Charnock  at  the  Albion  ; 
they  met  the  next  morning,  and  walked  through  the 
long  main  street.  Here  and  there  an  officer  looked 
at  her  with  a  start  of  surprise  and  respectfully  raised 
his  hat,  and  perhaps  took  a  step  or  two  towards 
her.  But  she  did  not  stop  to  speak  with  anyone. 
It  was  two  years  since  she  had  set  foot  within  the 
gates  of  Gibraltar,  and  no  doubt  the  stones  upon 
which  she  walked  had  many  memories  wherewith 
to  bruise  her.  Charnock  respected  her  silence,  and 
kept  pace  with  her  unobtrusively.  They  passed 
into  the  square  with  Government  House  upon  the 
one  side  and  the  mess-rooms  upon  the  other. 
Charnock  sketched  apicture  of  her  in  his  fancies,  the 
picture  of  a  young  girl  newly-come  from  the  brown 
solitudes  of  Suffolk  into  this  crowded  and  pictu- 
resque fortress  with  the  wonder  of  a  new  world  in 
her  eyes,  and  contrasted  it  with  the  woman  who 
walked  beside  him,  and  inferred  the  increasing 
misery  of  her  years.  He  was  touched  to  greater 
depths  of  sympathy  than  he  had  ever  felt  before 
even  when  she  had  lain  with  her  head  upon  her  arms 
in  an  abandonment  of  distress  ;  so  that  now  the 
uncomplaining  uprightness  of  her  figure  made  his 
heart  ache,  and  the  sound  of  her  footsteps  was  a 
pain.  But  of  the  most  intolerable  of  all  her 
memories  he  had  still  to  learn.  She  led  him  into 
the  little  cemetery,  guided  him  between  the  graves, 


240  MIRANDA    OF   THE   BALCONY  chap. 

and  stopped  before  a  headstone  on  which  Charnock 
read  :  — 

RUPERT   WARRINER, 
Aged  1  Years, 
and  the  date  of  his  birth  and  death. 

The  headstone  was  of  marble,  and  had  been 
sculptured  with  a  poetic  fancy  ;  a  boy,  in  whose 
face  Charnock  could  trace  a  likeness  to  Miranda, 
looked  out  and  laughed  between  the  open  lattices 
of  a  window. 

They  both  watched  the  grave  silently  for  a 
while.  Then  Miranda  said  gently,  "  Now  do  you 
understand  ?  When  Rupert  was  born,  it  seemed 
to  me  that  here  was  a  blossom  on  the  thorn  bush 
of  the  world.  But  you  see  the  blossom  never 
flowered.  He  died  of  diphtheria.  It  was  hard 
when  he  died ; "  and  Charnock  suddenly  started 
at  her  side. 

"  Those  flowers  !  "   he  said  hoarsely. 

Upon  the  grave  were  scattered  jonquils, 
geraniums,  roses,  pinks,  camellias  —  all  the  rich  reds 
and  yellows  of  Miranda's  garden. 

"  You  were  cutting  them,  packing  them,  that 
afternoon  when  Wilbraham  came  ?  " 

Mrs.  Warriner  shrank  from  lookingat  Charnock. 

"  Yes,"  she  confessed  in  a  whisper. 

"My  God!"  he  exclaimed.  Miranda  glanced 
at  him  in  fear.  So  it  was  coming  ;  he  was  remem- 
bering the  use  to  which  she  had  put  those  flowers. 
Would  he  loathe  her  sufficiently  to  withdraw  his 
help? 

"  Do  you  know  what  I  thought  ?  "  he  continued. 
"  No,  you  can't  guess.     You  could  not  imagine  it. 


xvii  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY  241 

I  actually  believed  that  you  were  cutting  those 
flowers  so  that  you  might  send  them  to  —  "  and 
he  broke  off" the  sentence.  "But  it's  too  odious 
to  tell  you." 

"  But  I  meant  you  should  believe  just  that,"  she 
cried.  "  I  meant  you  to  believe  it.  Oh,  how 
utterly  hateful!  How  could  I  have  done  it?  I 
wanted  to  hide  that  from  you,  but  it  was  right  you 
should  know.  I  must  have  been  mad,"  and  she 
convulsively  clasped  and  unclasped  her  hands. 

"  I  understand  why  you  dropped  that  bunch 
from  the  cliff,"  said  Charnock,  "  after  Wilbraham 
had  picked  a  flower  from  it." 

"  I  wanted  to  bring  you  here,"  said  Miranda, 
"  so  that  you  might  know  why  I  ask  this  service 
of  you.  As  I  told  you,  I  have  no  love  left  for 
Ralph,  but  he  was  that  boy's  father,  and  the  boy  is 
dead.  I  cannot  leave  Ralph  in  Morocco  a  slave. 
He  was  Rupert's  father.  Perhaps  you  remember 
that  after  I  met  you  at  Lady  Donnisthorpe's  I  came 
back  at  once  to  Ronda.  I  had  half  determined 
not  to  return  at  all,  and  when  you  first  told  me 
Ralph  was  alive,  my  first  absorbing  thought  was, 
where  should  I  hide  myself?  But  it  occurred  to 
me  that  he  might  be  in  need,  and  he  was  Rupert's 
father.  So  I  came  back,  and  when  Wilbraham 
blackmailed  me,  I  submitted  to  the  blackmail 
again  because  he  was  Rupert's  father  ;  and  because 
he  was  Rupert's  father,  when  I  learned  in  what 
sore  need  he  stood,  I  sent  that  glove  to  you." 

"  I  understand,"  said  Charnock,  and  they  turned 
and  walked  from  the  cemetery. 

"  Now  will  you  speak  ? '    she  asked. 


242  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY         chap. 

"  No,"  he  returned,  "  but  I  will  go  myself  to 
Morocco." 

"  It  is  your  life  I  am  asking  you  to  risk,"  said 
Miranda,  who  now  that  she  had  gained  her  end, 
began  at  once  to  realise  the  consequences  it  would 
entail  upon  her  friend. 

"  I  know  that  and  take  the  risk,"  replied 
Charnock. 

They  walked  out  towards  Europa  Point,  and 
turned  into  the  Alameda. 

"There  is  something  else,"  said  Miranda. 
"  Your  search  will  cost  money.  Every  farthing  of 
that  I  must  pay.     You  will  promise  me  that?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  I  wrote  to  M.  Fournier  yesterday.  He  will 
supply  you.  There  is  one  thing  more.  This 
search  will  interrupt  your  career." 

"  It  will,  no  doubt,"  he  assented  readily,  and 
sitting  down  upon  a  seat  he  spoke  to  her  words 
which  she  never  forgot.  "  The  quaint  thing  is 
that  I  have  always  been  afraid  lest  a  woman  should 
break  my  career.  I  lived  as  a  boy  high  up  on 
the  Yorkshire  hills,  two  miles  above  a  busy  town. 
All  day  that  town  whirred  in  the  hollow  below. 
I  could  see  it  from  my  bedroom  window,  and  all 
night  the  lights  blazed  in  the  factories ;  and  when 
I  went  down  into  its  streets  there  were  always 
grimed  men  speeding  upon  their  business.  There 
was  a  certain  grandeur  about  it  which  impressed 
me,  —  the  perpetual  shuffle  of  the  looms,  the  loud, 
clear  song  of  the  wheels.  That  seemed  to  me  the 
life  to  live.  And  I  made  up  my  mind  that  no 
woman  should  interfere.     A  brake  on  the  wheel 


xvii  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY  243 

going  up  hill,  a  whip  in  the  driver's  hand  going 
down,  —  that  was  what  I  thought  of  woman  until 
I  met  you." 

"  And  proved  it  true,"  cried  Miranda. 

"  And  learned  that  there  are  better  things  than 
getting  on,"  said  Charnock. 

Miranda  turned  to  him  with  shining  eyes,  and 
in  a  voice  which  left  him  in  no  doubt  as  to  the 
significance  of  her  words,  she  cried  :  — 

"  My  dear,  we  are  Love's  derelicts,  you  and  I," 
and  so  stopped  and  said  no  more. 

They  went  back  to  the  hotel  and  lunched 
together  and  came  out  again  to  the  geraniums  and 
bellas  sombras  of  the  Alameda.  But  they  talked 
no  more  in  this  strain.  They  were  just  a  man  and 
a  woman,  and  the  flaming  sword  kept  their  lips 
apart.  But  they  knew  it  and  were  not  aggrieved, 
for  being  a  man  and  a  woman  they  knew  not 
grievances. 

The  evening  came  down  upon  Gibraltar,  the 
riding  lanterns  glimmered  upon  the  masts  in  the 
bay  ;  away  to  the  left  the  lighthouse  on  Europa 
Point  shot  out  its  yellow  column  of  light ;  above, 
the  Spanish  sky  grew  purple  and  rich  with  in- 
numerable stars. 

"  The  boat  leaves  early,"  said  Charnock.  "  I 
will  say  good-bye  now." 

Miranda  caught  the  hand  which  he  held  out  to 
her  and  held  it  against  her  breast. 

"But  I  shall  see  you  again  —  once  —  please, 
once,"  she  said,  "  when  you  bring  Ralph  back  to 
me  ;  "  and  so  they  separated  in  the  Alameda. 

Charnock  walked  away  and  left  her  standing  there, 


244  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY    chap,  xvii 

nor  looked  back.  Stray  lines  and  verses  of  ballads 
which  he  had  heard  sung  by  women  in  drawing- 
rooms  here  and  there  about  the  world  came  back  to 
him  —  ballads  of  knights  and  cavaliers  who  had 
ridden  away  at  their  ladies'  behests.  He  had  laughed 
at  them  then,  but  they  came  back  to  him  now,  and 
he  felt  himself  linked  through  them  in  a  com- 
munity of  feeling  with  the  generations  which  had 
gone  before.  Men  had  gone  out  upon  such  errands 
as  he  was  now  privileged  to  do,  and  would  do  so 
again  when  he  was  dust,  with  just  the  same  pride 
which  he  felt  as  he  walked  homewards  on  this  night 
through  the  streets  of  Gibraltar.  He  realised  as 
he  had  never  realised  before,  through  the  fellow- 
ship of  service,  that  in  bone  and  muscle  and  blood 
he  was  of  the  family  of  men,  son  of  the  men  who 
had  gone  before,  father  of  the  men  who  were  to 
follow.  The  next  morning  he  crossed  the  straits 
to  Tangier. 


CHAPTER   XVIII 

IN    WHICH     THE    TAXIDERMIST    AND    A    BASHA 
PREVAIL    OVER    A    BLIND    MAN 

He  went  at  once  to  the  taxidermist's  shop.  M. 
Fournier  expected  him,  but  not  the  story  which  he 
had  to  tell. 

"  You  wish  to  discover  the  man  who  shouted 
through  your  door  six  months  ago,"  said  Charnock. 
"  It  was  I." 

M.  Fournier  got  together  his  account-books  and 
laid  them  on  the  counter  of  the  shop.  "  I  have  much 
money.  Where  is  my  friend  Mr.  Jeremy  Bentham?  " 

"  It  is  Hassan  Akbar  whom  we  must  ask,"  said 
Charnock,  and  he  told  Fournier  of  what  he  had 
seen  on  the  day  of  his  previous  visit  to  Tangier. 

The  two  men  walked  up  to  the  cemetery  gate, 
where  Hassan  still  sat  in  the  dust,  and  swung  his 
body  to  and  fro  and  reiterated  his  cry  "Allah 
Beh  !  "  as  on  that  day  when,  clothed  as  a  Moor, 
Ralph  Warriner  had  come  down  the  hill.  It  was 
the  tune  which  that  Moor  had  hummed,  and  which 
Miranda  had  repeated,  that  had  led  Charnock  to 
identify  the  victim  and  the  enemy. 

Charnock  hummed  over  that  tune  again  as  he 
stood  beside  the  Moor,  and  the  Moor  stopped  at 
once  from  his  prayer. 

245 


z+6  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY  chap. 

"  Hassan  Akbar,  what  hast  thou  done  with  the 
Christian  who  hummed  that  tune  and  dropped  a 
silver  dollar  in  thy  lap  at  this  gate  ?  " 

Hassan  made  no  answer,  and  as  though  his  sole 
anxiety  had  been  lest  Warriner  should  have  escaped 
and  returned,  he  recommenced  his  cry. 

"  Hassan,"  continued  Charnock,  "  was  it  that 
Christian  who  betrayed  thy  wealth  ?  Give  him 
back  to  us  and  thou  shalt  be  rich  again." 

"  Allah  Beh  !  "  cried  Hassan.     "  Allah  Beh  !  " 

"It  is  of  no  use  for  us  to  question  him,"  said  M. 
Fournier.  "  But  the  Basha  will  ask  him, and  in  time 
he  will  answer.  To-morrow  I  will  go  to  the  Basha." 

Charnock  hardly  gathered  the  purport  of  Four- 
nier's  proposal.  He  went  back  into  the  town,  and 
that  evening  M.  Fournier  related  to  him  much 
about  Ralph  Warriner  which  he  did  not  know. 

The  idea  of  running  guns  in  Morocco  had 
appealed  to  Warriner  some  time  before  he  put  it 
into  practice,  and  whilst  he  was  still  at  Gibraltar. 

"  I  did  not  know  him  then,"  said  Fournier. 
"  He  had  relations  with  others,  very  likely  with 
Hassan  Akbar,  but  nothing  came  of  those  rela- 
tions. When  he  ran  from  Gibraltar  in  the  Ten 
Brothers^  he  landed  at  Tangier,  and  lay  hid  some- 
where in  the  town,  while  he  sent  the  Ten  Brothers 
over  to  South  America  and  ordered  the  mate  to 
sell  her  for  as  much  as  she  would  fetch.  But  in  a 
little  while  Ralph  Warriner  met  me  and  asked  me 
to  be  his  partner  in  his  scheme.  He  had  a  little 
money  then,  and  indeed  it  was  just  about  the 
time  when  Hassan's  fortune  was  discovered.  It  is 
very  likely  that  our  friend  told  the  Basha  of 
Hassan's  wealth.      If  he  knew,  he  would  certainly 


xvm  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY  247 

have  told,"  said  M.  Fournier,  with  a  lenient  smile, 
"for  there  was  money  in  it.  Anyway,  he  had  some 
money  then,  I  had  some,  I  could  get  more,  and  I 
like  him  very  much.  I  say  yes.  He  tells  me  of 
his  ship.  We  want  a  ship  to  carry  over  the  guns. 
I  telegraph  to  the  Argentine  and  stop  the  sale. 
Warriner  sent  orders  to  change  her  rig,  as  he  call 
it,  and  her  name,  and  she  comes  back  to  us  as  the 
Tarifa.  The  only  trouble  left  was  this.  The 
most  profitable  guns  to  introduce  are  the  Win- 
chester rifles.  But  for  that  purpose  one  of  us 
must  go  between  England  and  Tangier,  must  sail 
the  Tarifa  between  England  and  Tangier.  I  could 
not  sail  a  toy-boat  in  a  pond  without  falling  into 
the  water.  How  then  could  I  sail  the  Tarifa? 
So  Warriner  must  do  it.  But  Warriner,  my  poor 
dear  friend,  he  has  made  little  errors.  He  must 
not  go  to  England,  not  even  as  Bentham.  To 
make  it  safe  for  Jeremy  Bentham  to  go  to  England, 
Ralph  Warriner  must  be  dead.     You  see  ? ' 

"  Yes,  I  see.  But  why  in  the  world  did  he  call 
himself  Jeremy  Bentham  ?  "  asked  Charnock. 

"  Because  he  was  such  an  economist.  Oh,  but 
he  was  very  witty  and  clever,  my  poor  friend, 
when  he  was  not  swearing  at  you.  At  all  events 
he  decided  that  Ralph  Warriner  must  die,  and 
that  there  must  be  proofs  that  he  was  dead.  So 
he  packed  up  a  few  letters  —  one  from  his  wife  be- 
fore he  was  married  to  her — that  was  clever,  hein  ? 
A  love-letter  from  h\s  fiancee  which  he  has  carried 
about  next  to  his  heart  for  six  years  !  So  sweet ! 
So  convincing  to  the  great  British  public,  eh  ?  He 
found  that  letter  by  chance  among  his  charts.  He 
gives  it  to  me  and  some  others  in  an  oilskin  case, 


248  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY         chap. 

and  sends  me  with  one  of  his  sailors  to  the  Scilly 
Islands.     And  then  Providence  helped  us. 

"All  that  we  hoped  to  do  was  to  hear  of  a 
wreck,  in  which  many  lives  were  lost,  to  go  out 
amongst  the  rocks,  where  the  ship  was  wrecked, 
and  to  pick  up  that  little  oilskin  case.  You  under- 
stand ?  Oh,  but  we  were  helped.  There  was  a 
heavy  storm  for  many  days  at  Scilly,  and  after  the 
storm  for  many  days  a  fog.  On  one  day  the 
sailor  and  I  —  we  go  out  in  the  fog  to  the  Western 
Islands,  to  see  if  any  ship  had  come  ashore.  But 
it  was  dangerous !  I  can  tell  you  it  was  very 
dangerous  and  very  wet.  However,  we  come  to 
Rosevear,  and  there  was  the  remnant  of  a  ship,  and 
no  sailor  anywhere.  We  landed  on  Rosevear,  and 
just  as  I  was  about  to  place  the  oilskin  case  among 
the  rocks  where  it  would  be  naturally  found,  we 
came  upon  one  dead  sailor,  lying  near  to  the  sea 
just  as  if  asleep.  I  slipped  the  oilskin  case  into 
his  pocket,  and  then  with  stones  we  broke  in  his 
face.  Ah,  but  that  was  horrible  !  It  made  me 
sick  then  and  there.  But  we  did  it,  until  there 
was  no  face  left.  Then  for  fear  the  waves  might 
come  up  and  wash  him  away,  we  dragged  him  up 
the  rocks  and  laid  him  amongst  the  grass,  again 
as  though  he  was  asleep.  We  made  a  little  mis- 
take there.  We  dragged  him  too  far  from  the 
sea.     But  the  mistake  did  not  matter." 

"I  see,"  said  Charnock.  "And  that  day  I 
shouted  through  the  door  Warriner  sailed  for 
England  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  replied  Fournier.  "  I  hired  that  morn- 
ing a  felucca  to  sail  himself  across  to  Tarifa." 

"  I  remember." 


xvm  MIRANDA    OF   THE   BALCONY  249 

"  The  boat  lay  at  Tarifa.   He  set  sail  that  night." 

"  Yes,"  said  Charnock.  "  I  spent  the  night  here. 
I  waited  two  days  for  the  P.  and  O.  at  Gibraltar,  we 
passed  the  Tarifa  off  Ushant,  and  three  days  later 
I  met  Warriner  in  Plymouth.     Yes,  the  times  fit." 

"  It  is  very  likely  Ralph  who  told  about  Has- 
san," mused  M.  Fournier,  with  a  lenient  smile. 
"If  he  knew,  he  would  have  been  sure  to  have 
told ;  for  there  was  money  in  it.  To-morrow 
I   will  see  the   Basha." 

M.  Fournier  went  down  to  the  Kasbah  and 
found  the  Basha  delivering  justice  at  the  gates. 
The  suitors  were  dismissed,  and  M.  Fournier 
opened  his  business. 

"  We  do  not  wish  to  trouble  the  Legation," 
said  he.  "  The  Legation  would  make  much 
noise,  and  his  Shereefian  Majesty,  whom  God 
preserve,  would  never  hear  the  end  of  it.  Be- 
sides, we  do  not  wish  it."  And  upon  that 
money  changed  hands.  "  But  if  the  Englishman 
told  your  nobility  that  Hassan  Akbar  was  hoard- 
ing his  money  in  utter  selfishness,  then  your  nobil- 
ity will  talk  privately  with  Hassan  and  find  out 
from   him  where  the   Englishman  is." 

The  Basha  stroked  his  white  beard. 

"  The  Nazarene  speaks  wisely.  We  will  not 
disturb  the  dignity  of  his  Majesty,  whom  Allah 
preserve,  for  such  small  things.  I  will  talk  to 
Hassan  Akbar  and  send  for  you  again." 

That  impenetrable  man  was  fetched  from  the 
cemetery  gates,  and  the   Basha  addressed  him. 

"  Hassan,  thou  didst  hide  and  conceal  thy  treas- 
ure, and  truly  the  Room  told  me  of  it ;  and  since 
thy  treasure  was  of  no  profit  to  thee,  I  took  it." 


250  MIRANDA    OF   THE   BALCONY         chap. 

"  When  I  was  blind  and  helpless,"  said  Hassan. 

"  So  thou  wast  chastened  the  more  thoroughly 
for  thy  profit  in  the  next  world,  and  thy  master 
and  my  master,  the  Sultan,  was  served  in  this," 
said  the  Basha,  with  great  dignity,  and  he  rev- 
erently bowed  his  head  to  the  dust.  "  Now 
what  hast  thou  done  with  the  Room  ?  " 

But  Hassan  answered  never  a  word. 

"  Thou  stubborn  man  !  May  Allah  burn  thy 
great-great-grandfather !  "  said  the  Basha,  and 
chained  his  hands  and  his  feet,  and  had  him  con- 
veyed to  an  inner  room,  where  he  talked  to  him 
with  rods  of  various  length  and  thickness.  At  the 
end  of  the  third  day  the  Basha  sent  a  message  to 
M.  Fournier  that  Hassan's  heart  was  softened  by 
the  goodness  of  God,  and  that  now  he  would  speak. 

The  Basha  received  Charnock  and  M.  Fournier 
in  a  great  cool  domed  room  of  lattice-work  and 
tiles.  He  sat  upon  cushions  on  a  dais  at  the  end 
of  the  room ;  stools  were  brought  forward  for 
his  visitors  ;  and  M.  Fournier  and  the  Basha  ex- 
changed lofty  compliments,  and  drank  much  weak 
sweet  tea.  Then  the  Basha  raised  his  hand;  a  door 
was  thrown  open  ;  and  a  blind,  wavering,  broken 
man  crawled,  dragging  his  fetters,  across  the  floor. 

"  Good  God  !  '  whispered  Charnock  ;  "  what 
have  they  done  to  him  ?  " 

"  They  have  made  him  speak,  that  is  all,"  re- 
turned M.  Fournier,  imperturbably.  He  kept 
all   his  pity  for  Ralph  Warriner. 

M.  Fournier  translated  afterwards  to  Charnock 
the  story  which  Hassan  told  as  he  grovelled  on 
the  ground,  and  it  ran  as  follows  :  — 

"  When  the  son  of  the  English  first  came  into 


xvm  MIRANDA    OF    THE    BALCONY  251 

Morocco  I  showed  him  great  kindness  and  hospi- 
tality, and  how  he  returned  it  you  know.  So  after 
I  was  blind  I  waited.  More  than  once  I  heard 
his  voice  in  the  Sok,  and  in  the  streets  of  Tangier, 
and  I  knew  that  he  had  quarrelled  with  his  own 
people  the  Nazarenes,  and  dared  not  turn  to  them 
for  help.  I  sit  by  the  gate  of  the  cemetery,  and 
many  Arabs,  and  Moors,  and  Negroes,  and  Jews 
come  down  the  road  from  the  country  to  the 
market-place,  and  at  last  one  morning  I  heard 
the  steps  of  one  whose  feet  shuffled  in  his  babouches; 
he  could  not  walk  in  the  loose  slippers  as  we  who 
are  born  to  the  use  of  them.  And  it  was  not  an 
old  man,  whose  feet  are  clogged  by  age,  for  his 
stride  was  long ;  that  my  ears  told  me  which  are 
my  eyes.  It  was  an  infidel  in  the  dress  of  the 
faithful.  It  may  be  that  if  I  had  seen  with  my 
eyes,  I  should  never  have  known ;  but  my  ears 
are  sharpened,  and  I  heard.  When  he  passed  me 
he  gave  me  greeting,  and  then  I  knew  it  was  the 
Room.  He  dropped  a  dollar  into  my  hands  and 
whistled  a  tune  which  he  had  often  whistled  after 
he  had  eaten  of  my  kouss-kouss,  and  so  went  on 
his  way.  I  rose  up  and  followed  him,  thinking 
that  my  time  had  come.  Across  the  Sok  I  followed 
him,  hearing  always  the  shuffle  of  the  slippers 
amidst  the  din  of  voices  and  the  hurrying  of  many 
feet.  He  did  not  see  me,  for  he  never  turned  or 
stopped,  but  went  straight  on  under  the  gate  of 
the  town,  and  then  turned  through  the  horse- 
market,  and  came  to  a  house  which  he  entered. 
I  heard  the  door  barred  behind  him,  and  a  shutter 
fixed  across  the  window,  and  I  sat  down  beneath  the 
shutter  and  waited.    I  heard  voices  talking  quickly 


252  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY  chap. 

and  earnestly  within  the  room,  and  then  some- 
one rose  and  came  out  of  the  door  and  walked 
down  the  street  towards  the  port.  But  it  was  not 
the  man  for  whom  I  waited.  This  one  walked 
with  little  jaunty,  tripping  steps,  and  I  was  glad 
that  he  went  away  ;  for  the  bolt  of  the  door  was 
not  shut  behind  him,  and  the  dog  of  a  Nazarene 
was  alone.  I  rose  and  walked  to  the  door.  A 
son  of  the  English  stood  in  the  way  :  I  asked  him 
for  alms  with  the  one  hand  and  felt  for  the  latch 
with  the  other;  but  the  son  of  the  English  saw 
what  I  was  doing  and  shouted  through  the  door." 

"  It  was  I,"  said  Charnock. 

Hassan  turned  his  sightless  face  towards  Char- 
nock and  reflected.  Then  he  answered  :  "  It  was 
indeed  you.  And  after  you  had  spoken  the  bolt 
was  shot.  Thereupon  I  went  back  to  the  Sok, 
and  asking  here  and  there  at  last  fell  in  with  some 
Arabs  from  Beni  Hassan  with  whom  in  other  days 
I  had  traded.  And  for  a  long  while  I  talked  to 
them,  showing  that  there  was  no  danger,  for  the 
Room  was  without  friends  amongst  his  own  peo- 
ple, and  moreover  that  he  would  fetch  a  price,  every 
okesa  of  which  was  theirs.  And  at  the  last  they 
agreed  with  me  that  I  should  deliver  him  to  them 
at  night  outside  the  walls  of  Tangier  and  they 
would  take  him  away  and  treat  him  ill,  and  sell 
him  for  a  slave  in  their  own  country.  But  the 
Room  had  gone  from  Tangier  and  the  Arabs  moved 
to  Tetuan  and  Omara  and  S6k-et-Trun,  but  after  a 
while  they  returned  to  Tangier  and  the  Room  also 
returned ;  and  the  time  I  had  waited  for  had  come." 

"  What  have  you  done  with  him  ?  "  said  the 
Basha.     "  Speak." 


xvm  MIRANDA    OF    THE    BALCONY  253 

"  I  besought  a  lad  who  had  been  my  servant  to 
watch  the  Room  Bentham,  and  his  goings  and 
comings.  With  the  dollar  which  he  had  given  me 
I  bought  a  little  old  tent  of  palmetto  and  set  it  up 
in  the  corner  of  the  Sok  apart  from  the  tents  of 
the  cobblers." 

"  Well  ?  "  interrupted  M.  Fournier,  "  speak 
quickly." 

"  One  evening  the  lad  came  to  me  and  said  the 
Room  had  gone  up  to  a  house  on  the  hill  above 
the  Sok,  where  there  were  many  lights  and  much 
noise  of  feasting.  So  I  went  down  the  Sok  to 
where  the  Arabs  slept  by  their  camels  and  said  to 
them,  c  It  will  be  to-night.'  And  as  God  willed 
it  the  night  was  dark.  The  lad  led  me  to  the 
house  and  I  sat  outside  it  till  the  noise  grew  less 
and  many  went  away.  At  last  the  Nazarene 
Bentham  came  to  the  door  and  his  mule  was 
brought  for  him  and  he  mounted.  I  asked  the 
boy  who  guided  me,  'Is  it  he?'  and  the  boy 
answered  'Yes.'  So  I  dismissed  him  and  followed 
the  mule  down  the  hill  to  the  Sok,  which  was  very 
quiet.  Then  I  ran  after  him  and  called,  and  he 
stopped  his  mule  till  I  came  up  with  him. 
'  What  is  it  ?'  he  asked,  and  I  threw  a  cloth  over 
his  head  and  dragged  him  from  the  mule.  We 
both  fell  to  the  ground,  but  I  had  one  arm  about 
his  neck  pressing  the  cloth  to  his  mouth  so  that  he 
could  not  cry  out.  I  pressed  him  into  the  mud  of 
the  Sok  and  put  my  knee  upon  his  chest  and 
bound  his  arms  together.  Then  I  carried  him  to 
my  tent  and  took  the  cloth  from  his  head,  for  I 
wished  to  hear  him  speak  and  be  sure  that  it  was 
Bentham.      But  he  understood  my  wish  and  would 


254  MIRANDA    OF   THE   BALCONY  chap,  xvm 

not  speak.  So  I  took  his  mule-hobbles  which  I 
had  stolen  while  he  feasted,  and  made  them  hot  in 
a  fire  and  tied  them  about  his  ankles  and  in  a  little 
while  I  made  him  cry  out  and  I  was  sure.  Then 
I  stripped  him  of  his  clothes  and  put  upon  him  my 
own  rags.  The  Arabs  came  to  the  tent  an  hour 
later.  I  gagged  Bentham  and  gave  him  up  to 
them  bound,  and  in  the  dark  they  took  him  away, 
with  the  mule.  His  clothes  I  buried  in  the 
ground  under  my  tent,  and  in  the  morning  stamped 
the  ground  down  and  took  the  tent  away." 

"  And  the  chief  of  these  Arabs  ?  Give  me  his 
name,"  said  the  Basha. 

"  Mallam  Juzeed,"  replied  Hassan. 

The  Basha  waved  his  hand  to  the  soldiers  and 
Hassan  was  dragged  away. 

"  I  will  send  a  soldier  with  you,  give  you  a 
letter  to  the  Sheikh  of  Beni  Hassan,  and  he  will 
discover  the  Room,  if  he  is  to  be  found  in  those 
parts,"  said  the  Basha  to  M.  Fournier. 

Charnock  spent  the  greater  part  of  a  month  in 
formalities.  He  took  the  letter  from  the  Basha 
and  many  other  letters  to  Jews  of  importance  in 
the  towns  with  which  M.  Fournier  was  able  to 
provide  him;  he  hired  the  boy  Hamet  who  had 
acted  as  his  guide  on  his  first  visit,  and  getting 
together  an  equipment  as  for  a  long  journey  in 
Morocco,  rode  out  over  the  Hill  of  the  Two  Seas 
into  the  inlands  of  that  mysterious  and  enchanted 
country. 


CHAPTER    XIX 

TELLS    OF    CHARNOCK's    WANDERINGS    IN     MOROCCO 
AND    OF    A    WALNUT-WOOD    DOOR 

In  the  course  of  time  Charnock  came  to  a  village 
of  huts  enclosed  within  an  impenetrable  rampart  of 
cactus  upon  the  flank  of  the  hills  southward  of 
Mequinez  and  there  met  the  Sheikh.  The  Sheikh 
laid  his  hands  upon  Mallam  Juzeed  and  bade  him 
speak,  which  he  did  with  a  wise  promptitude.  It 
was  true ;  they  had  taken  the  Christian  from 
Tangier,  but  they  had  sold  him  on  the  way.  They 
had  chanced  to  arrive  at  the  great  houseless  and 
treeless  plain  of  Seguedla,  a  day's  march  from  Al- 
kasar,  on  a  Wednesday  ;  and  since  every  Wednes- 
day an  open  market  is  held  upon  two  or  three 
low  hills  which  jut  out  from  the  plain,  they  had 
sold  Ralph  Warriner  there  to  a  travelling  merchant 
of  the  Mtoga.  Mallam  supplied  the  merchant's 
name  and  the  direction  of  his  journey.  Charnock 
packed  his  tents  upon  his  mules  and  disappeared 
into  the  south. 

For  two  years  he  disappeared,  or  almost  dis- 
appeared ;  almost,  since  through  the  freemasonry 

*55 


256  MIRANDA    OF   THE   BALCONY  chap. 

of  the  Jews,  that  great  telephone  across  Barbary  by 
which  the  Jew  at  Tangier  shall  hear  the  words 
which  the  Jew  speaks  at  Tafilet,  M.  Fournier  was 
able  to  obtain  now  and  again  rare  news  of 
Charnock,  and,  as  it  were,  a  rare  glimpse  of  him  at 
Saforo,  at  Marakesch,  at  Tarudant,  and  to  supply 
him  with  money.  Then  came  a  long  interval,  until 
a  Jew  of  the  Waddoon  stopped  Fournier  in  the 
Sok  of  Tangier,  handed  him  a  letter,  and  told  him 
that  many  months  ago,  as  he  rode  at  nightfall  down 
a  desolate  pass  of  the  Upper  Atlas  mountains,  he 
came  to  an  inhospitable  wilderness  of  stones,  where 
one  in  Moorish  dress  and  speaking  the  Moorish 
tongue  was  watching  the  antics  of  a  snake-charmer 
by  the  light  of  a  scanty  fire  of  brushwood.  The 
Moor  had  two  servants  with  him  but  no  escort,  and 
no  tent,  and  for  safety's  sake  the  Jew  stayed  with 
him  that  night.  In  the  morning  the  Moor  had 
given  him  the  letter  to  M.  Fournier  and  had  bidden 
him  say  that  he  was  well. 

In  that  letter  Charnock  told  in  detail  the  history 
of  his  search.  How  he  had  held  to  his  clue,  how 
he  had  missed  it  and  retraced  his  steps,  how  he 
had  followed  the  merchant  to  Figuig  on  the  borders 
of  Algeria,  and  back  ;  how  he  had  gone  south  into 
the  country  of  Sus  and  was  now  returning  north- 
wards to  Mequinez.  He  had  discarded  the  escort, 
because  if  a  protection  to  himself,  it  was  a  warning 
to  the  Arabs  with  whom  he  fell  in.  They  grew 
wary  and  shut  their  lips,  distrusting  him,  distrust- 
ing his  business;  and  since  he  could  speak  Arabic 
before,  he  had  picked  up  sufficient  of  the  Moghreb- 
bin  dialect,  what  with  his  dark  face  and  Hamet  to 


xix  MIRANDA    OF   THE   BALCONY  257 

come  to  his  aid,  to  pass  muster  as  a  native.  M. 
Fournier  sent  the  letter  on  to  Mrs.  Warriner  at 
Ronda,  who  read  it  and  re-read  it  and  blamed  her 
selfishness  in  sending  any  man  upon  such  an 
errand,  and  wondered  why  she  of  all  women  in  the 
world  should  have  found  a  man  readv  to  do  her 
this  service.  Many  a  time  as  she  looked  from  her 
window  over  the  valley  she  speculated  what  his 
thoughts  were  as  he  camped  in  the  night-air  on 
the  plains  and  among  the  passes.  Did  his  thoughts 
turn  to  Ronda  ?  Did  he  see  her  there  obtruding 
a  figure  of  a  monstrous  impertinence  and  vanity? 
For  she  had  asked  of  him  what  no  woman  had  a 
right  to  ask. 

His  frank  confession  of  how  he  had  defined 
women  came  back  to  her  with  a  pitiless  conviction  ; 
"  A  brake  on  the  wheel  going  up  hill,  a  whip  in 
the  driver's  hand  going  down."  It  was  true  !  It 
was  true  !  She  was  the  instance  which  proved  it 
true.  There  were  unhappy  months  for  Miranda 
of  the  balcony. 

At  times  Jane  Holt  would  be  wakened  from 
her  sleep  by  a  great  cry,  and  getting  from  her  bed 
she  would  walk  round  the  landing  half-way  up  the 
patio,  to  Miranda's  bedroom,  only  to  find  it  empty. 
She  would  descend  the  staircase,  and  coming  into 
the  little  parlour,  would  discover  Miranda  leaning 
out  of  the  open  window  and  looking  down  to  a 
certain  angle  of  the  winding  road. 

She  had  dreamed,  she  had  seen  in  her  dream  Char- 
nock  with  his  two  servants  encamped  upon  a  hill-side 
or  on  a  plain,  and  hooded  figures  in  long  robes 
crawling,  creeping,  towards  them,  crouching  behind 


258  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY  chap. 

boulders,  or  writhing  their  bodies  across  fields  of 
flowers.  She  saw  him  too  in  the  narrow,  dim 
alleys  of  ruined  towns,  lured  through  a  doorway 
behind  impenetrable  walls,  and  then  robbed  for 
his  money  and  tortured  for  his  creed. 

At  such  times  the  sight  of  that  road  whence  he 
had  looked  upwards  to  her  window  was  a  consola- 
tion, almost  a  confutation  of  her  dreams.  There 
at  that  visible  corner  of  the  road,  underneath  these 
same  stars  and  the  same  purple  sky,  Charnock  had 
sat  and  gazed  at  this  window  from  which  she 
leaned.  He  could  not  be  dead  !  And  carried 
away  by  a  feverish  revulsion,  she  would  at  times 
come  to  fancy  .that  he  had  returned,  that  he 
was  even  now  seated  on  the  bank  by  the  roadside, 
that  but  for  the  gloom  she  would  surely  distinguish 
him,  that  in  spite  of  the  gloom  she  could  faintly 
distinguish  him.  And  so  her  cousin  would  speak 
to  her,  and  with  some  commonplace  excuse  that 
the  night  was  hot,  Miranda  would  get  her  back 
to  her  room. 

These  were  terrible  months  for  Miranda  of 
the  balcony.  And  the  months  lengthened, 
and  again  no  news  came.  Miranda  began  to 
wonder  whether  she  had  only  sent  Charnock 
out  to  meet  Ralph's  disaster,  to  become  a  slave 
beaten  and  whipped  and  shackled,  and  driven 
this  way  and  that  through  the  barbarous  inlands. 

The  months  were  piled  one  upon  the  other. 
The  weight  of  their  burden  could  be  measured  by 
the  changes  in  Miranda's  bearing.  Her  cheeks 
grew  thin,  her  manner  feverish.  The  mere  slam- 
ming of  a  door  would  fling  the  blood   into  her 


xix  MIRANDA    OF    THE    BALCONY  259 

face  like  scarlet ;  an  unexpected  entrance  set  her 
heart  racing  till  it  stifled  her. 

***** 

Meanwhile  Charnock  had  long  ceased  to  be 
troubled  by  the  interruption  of  his  career.  He 
moved  now  across  wide  prairies  of  iris  and 
asphodel  under  a  blazing  African  sun,  with  perhaps 
a  single  palm  tree  standing  naked  somewhere  within 
view,  or  a  cluster  of  dwarf  olives  ;  he  halted  now 
for  the  night  under  a  sinister  sky  on  a  dark  plain, 
which  stretched  to  the  horizon  level  as  the  sea; 
he  would  skirt  a  hill  and  come  unawares  upon  some 
white  town  of  vast,  gaunt,  crumbling  walls,  that 
ran  out  for  no  reason  into  the  surrounding  country, 
and  for  no  reason  stopped.  He  passed  beneath 
their  ruined  crenellations,  under  the  great  gateways 
into  the  tortuous  and  dark  streets  where  men 
noiseless  and  sombre  went  their  shrouded  way. 
There  were  nights  too  when  he  sat  with  a  Mouser 
pistol  in  his  hand,  searching  the  darkness  until 
the  dawn. 

The  continent  he  had  left  behind  seemed  very 
far  away  ;  the  echo  of  its  clamours  diminished ; 
the  hurry  of  its  conflicts  became  unreasonable  and 
strange.  He  was  in  a  country  where  the  moss 
upon  the  palace  roofs  was  itself  of  an  immemorial 
antiquity  ;  where  neither  the  face  of  the  country 
nor  the  ways  of  those  who  lived  on  it  had  changed. 
He  had  waited  as  he  turned  his  back  upon  a  town 
in  the  violet  sunset,  to  see  the  white  flags  break 
out  upon  the  tops  of  the  minarets,  and  the 
Mueddins  appear.  He  had  waited  for  their  cry, 
"  Allah  Akbar  !  "  and  for  the  great  plaintive  moan 


26o  MIRANDA    OF   THE   BALCONY  chap. 

of  prayer  which  rose  to  answer  it  from  the  terraces, 
the  bazaars,  from  every  corner  of  the  town,  and 
which  trembled  away  with  infinite  melancholy  over 
infinite  plains,  "  Allah  Akbar  !     Allah  Akbar  !  " 

From  those  very  minarets,  during  longsuccessive 
centuries,  a  Mueddin  at  just  that  hour  had  uttered 
just  that  cry ;  so  that  the  Mueddin  became 
nothing,  but  the  cry  echoed  down  the  years.  And 
just  that  same  answer  had  risen  and  trembled  out 
in  just  the  same  plaintive  mournfulness,  so  that 
those  who  prayed  became  of  no  account,  and  the 
prayer  repeated  by  the  generations,  the  one  thing 
which  lived. 

Charnock  used  to  halt  upon  his  road,  turn  his 
face  backwards  to  the  town,  and  picture  to  himself 
that  from  East  to  West  the  whole  continent  of 
Africa  was  murmurous  with  that  one  prayer,  that 
the  Atlantic  carried  away  the  sound  of  it  upon  its 
receding  waves,  and  that  the  Nile  floated  it  down 
from  village  to  village  through  the  Soudan.  He 
ceased  to  wonder  at  the  indifference,  the  passivity, 
the  fatalism,  of  these  mysterious  men  amongst 
whom  he  lived ;  for  he  felt  something  of  that 
fatalism  invading  himself. 

He  continued  his  search,  northwards  from  the 
Atlas,  escaping  here  a  band  of  robbers,  there 
struggling  in  the  whirl  of  a  swollen  stream,  listen- 
ing at  night  to  the  cries  of  the  jackals,  and  yielding 
to  the  witchery  of  a  monotonous  Arab  flute  into 
which  one  servant  blew  a  few  yards  away,  while 
Hamet,  in  a  high  strident  voice,  chanted  a  no  less 
monotonous  song.  He  continued  his  search  almost 
because  "  it  was  written." 


xix  MIRANDA    OF   THE   BALCONY  261 

Until  on  a  dull  afternoon  he  came  to  Mequinez, 
with  its  palaces  of  dead  kings,  which  rise  up  one 
behind  the  other,  drapedin  golden  lichens,  vast  roofs 
stretching  away  into  the  distance,  green  and  grey 
with  the  whipping  of  rains,  tower  overtopping 
tower,  crumbling  crenellations  of  wall,  silent, 
oppressive.  Each  palace  shut  and  barred  after  its 
master  was  dead,  and  left  so,  to  frown  into  decay 
and  make  a  habitation  for  the  storks. 

To  thiscitv  Charnock  tracked  the  merchant,  and 
taking  up  his  abode  in  the  Mellah  with  a  Jew  to 
whom  M.  Fournier  had  recommended  him,  he 
walked  out  through  the  streets  beneath  the  walls  of 
the  palaces,  neither  inquiring  for  the  merchant  nor 
scanning  the  faces  of  the  passers-by,  but  wrapped 
in  his  burnous,  careless  of  any  cry,  impenetrable, 
unobservant,  until  he  came  out  of  the  darkness  of 
a  bazaar,  and  saw,  right  before  his  eyes,  a  door. 

The  door  was  set  in  a  wall  perhaps  sixty  feet 
high.  Charnock  could  not  see  the  top  for  the 
narrowness  of  the  street.  Blank,  and  menacing 
in  the  sinister  light,  the  wall  towered  up  before  his 
eyes,  and  reached  out  to  the  right  and  to  the  left. 
And  at  the  foot  of  the  wall  was  the  door  —  a  door 
of  walnut  wood,  studded  with  copper  nails,  and  the 
nails  were  intricately  ordered  in  a  geometrical 
figure,  impossible  for  the  eye  to  unravel. 

That  Charnock  already  knew  ;  he  had  made  trial 
before  now  to  unravel  those  geometrical  figures, 
once,  very  long  ago,  and  very  far  away  in  the 
white  sunlit  street  of  a  Spanish  town.  Charnock 
stood  and  stared  at  the  door,  and  the  Spanish 
town  loomed  larger  before  his  vision,  drew  nearer, 


262  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY         chap. 

moved  towards  him,  first  slowly,  then  quickly, 
then  in  a  rush.  Ronda  !  Ronda  !  The  town,  as 
it  were,  swept  over  him.  He  seemed  to  wake ;  he 
seemed  to  stand  again  in  the  street.  To  his  right 
was  the  chasm  of  the  Tajo,  and  the  bridge,  and 
the  boiling  torrent;  behind  that  door  lived  —  and 
these  two  years  slipped  from  him  like  a  cloak. 
With  an  unconscious  movement  of  his  hands  he 
pushed  the  hood  back  from  his  forehead,  and  stood 
bare-headed  and  alert.  He  was  again  one  of  the 
hurrying,  strenuous,  curious  folk  who  live  beyond 
the  Straits. 

He  gazed  at  the  door.  Behind  that  door's 
fellow  Miranda  lived  and  waited.  Even  as  the 
thought  burned  through  his  mind,  the  door  opened. 
For  a  moment  Charnock  imagined  that  Miranda 
herself  would  step  out ;  but  only  a  Moor  came 
forth  from  an  interview  with  the  Basha,  and  a 
ragged,  decrepit  greybeard  of  a  servant  attended  on 
the  Moor  and  made  his  path.  Charnock  was  in 
an  instant  aware  of  a  grey  light  filtering  between 
the  squalid  roof-tops,  of  the  filth  of  the  streets,  of 
the  tottering  walls  of  Mulai  Ismail.  He  was  in 
Mequinez. 

And  at  Mequinez  the  long  two  years  should 
end,  and  in  ending  bear  their  fruit.  That  door4 
on  which  his  eyes  were  set,  augured  as  much,  nay 
promised  it.  "  Not  a  sparrow  shall  fall.  .  .  ." 
Just  for  this  reason,  centuries  ago,  a  Moorish  con- 
queror had  taken  these  slabs  of  walnut  wood  in 
Spain,  and  brought  them  back  upon  the  shoulders 
of  his  slaves  and  made  his  door  from  them  and  set 
it  in  his  wall  at   Mequinez;  just  that  Charnock 


xix  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY  263 

coming  to  this  spot  centuries  afterwards  might  be 
quickened  in  his  service  towards  a  woman,  and  gird 
himself  about  with  the  memory  of  things  which 
were  growing  dim,  and  be  assured  the  service  should 
not  fail  !     Charnock  was  uplifted  to  believe  it. 

He  drew  the  hood  again  about  his  head,  and  the 
voice  of  the  Mueddin  called  the  world  to  prayer. 
Through  the  open  doors  of  the  mosques,  from  the 
white  walls  glimmering  in  the  dimness  within  those 
doors,  from  the  streets,  from  the  houses,  the  high- 
pitched  tremulous  prayer  rose  and  declined  in  an 
arc  of  sound. 

Charnock  felt  his  whole  being  throb  exultantly. 
At  Mequinez,  yes,  and  to-night,  his  search  would 
end.  Surely  to-night !  For  the  hour  after  the 
evening  prayer  was  the  hour  for  the  selling  of 
slaves. 

Charnock  walked  to  the  market  and  sat  him- 
self down  in  the  first  dim  corner.  He  did  not 
choose  a  place  prominent  and  visible,  inviting 
whosoever  had  wares  to  sell ;  he  took  the  first 
seat  which  offered  —  certain  that  wherever  he  sat 
Ralph  Warriner  would  be  brought  to  him.  He 
sat  down  and  looked  about  him. 

Some  half  a  dozen  men  were  grouped  about  the 
market  talking  ;  a  young  negress  from  the  Soudan, 
a  white  Moorish  girl,  a  young  negro  from  Tim- 
buctoo,  were  brought  to  them  in  turn.  They 
examined  their  teeth,  their  arms,  their  feet.  The 
Moorish  girl  was  bought;  the  others  passed  on, 
each  with  the  owner.  They  were  followed  by  the 
Moor  whom  Charnock  had  seen  step  from  the 
Basha's  door.     He  wished  to  sell  his  decrepit  grey- 


264  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY  chap. 

beard,  and  was  met  with  laughter  wheresoever  he 
turned.     These  were  all  the  slaves  in  the  market. 

Charnock  did  not  lose  heart.  At  any  moment 
within  the  next  few  minutes  the  narrow  entrance 
to  the  market  might  darken,  and  Ralph  Warriner's 
owner  thrust  Ralph  Warriner  in  —  at  some  mo- 
ment that  would  happen. 

Did  Warriner  still  shuffle  in  the  Moorish 
slippers  as  he  walked  ?  Charnock  found  himself 
asking  the  question  with  a  curious  light-hearted- 
ness.  The  negress  was  offered  to  him,  and  then 
the  negro ;  he  refused  them  with  a  gesture.  He 
lent  an  ear  to  the  rustling  whispering  traffic  of 
the  streets  outside.  He  listened  patiently,  con- 
fidently, for  the  sound  of  a  shuffling  footstep  to 
emerge,  and  grow  distinct  and  more  distinct.  The 
Moor  brought  his  greybeard  to  Charnock's  corner. 
Charnock  held  his  head  aside  and  listened  for  the 
loose  slap-slap  of  the  slipper  upon  the  mud.  The 
Moor  spoke,  was  importunate ;  Charnock  waved 
him  aside  impatiently. 

But  as  he  waved  his  arm  he  turned  his  head ; 
and  then  he  suddenly  reached  out  a  hand,  while 
his  heart  leaped  in  his  throat.  "  Ten  dollars," 
he  said.  The  Moor  began  to  expatiate  on  the 
merits  of  his  slave  ;  he  was  still  strong;  he  could 
carry  heavy  loads,  and  for  far  distances.  Charnock 
was  impatient  to  interrupt,  to  pay  the  price.  When 
he  had  turned  his  head,  suddenly,  for  an  instant, 
he  had  looked  straight  into  the  greybeard's  eyes  — 
and  they  were  the  blue  eyes  which  had  stared  into 
his  —  once,  how  many  centuries  ago?  —  through  the 
window  of  a  hansom  cab  in  a  noisy  street  of  Plym- 


xix  MIRANDA    OF   THE   BALCONY  265 

outh.  Charnock  had  no  doubt.  Other  Moors 
had  blue  eyes,  and  in  no  other  feature  of  this 
wizened,  haggard  creature  but  his  eyes  could 
he  trace  a  resemblance  to  Ralph  Warriner ;  but 
he  had  no  doubt.  All  the  intuitions  of  the  last 
half-hour  came  to  his  aid.  He  remembered  the 
door,  the  call  to  prayer.  This  was  Ralph  War- 
riner, and  he  had  almost  let  him  pass  !  Had  he 
not  turned  by  mere  accident  just  at  the  one 
moment  when  the  greybeard's  eyes  were  raised, 
he  would  have  lost  his  chance  now  and  forever. 
Warriner  would  have  perished  in  his  servitude, 
would  have  dropped  somewhere  on  the  plain  under 
a  load  too  heavy,  and  lain  there  until  nightfall 
brought  the  jackals. 

The  thought  took  Charnock  at  the  throat,  left 
him  struggling  for  his  breath.  So  near  had  he 
been  to  failing  when  he  must  not  fail !  He  began 
to  fear  at  once  that  another  purchaser  might  step 
in,  while  the  Moor  was  still  exaggerating  his  goods. 
Yet  he  must  not  interrupt ;  he  must  give  no  sign 
of  anxiety  lest  he  should  awaken  suspicion  ;  he 
must  bargain  with  extreme  indifference  while  a 
fever  burnt  in  all  his  blood. 

"Thirty  dollars,"  the  Moor  proposed. 

Charnock  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  shook  his 
head.  The  Moor  turned  away  ;  the  slave  followed 
the  master.  Charnock  clenched  his  hands  together 
under  the  folds  of  his  sleeves  to  prevent  them 
reaching  out  and  clasping  the  man.  The  mer- 
chant walked  slowly  for  a  few  yards.  At  the 
entrance  of  the  market  there  was  a  sudden  ob- 
scurity ;  a  tall  man  blocked  the  way,  entered,  and 


266  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY    chap,  xix 

stopped  before  the  merchant  and  his  slave.  Char- 
nock's  heart  died  within  him  ;  but  the  man  only 
laughed  and  passed  on. 

Charnock  felt  all  his  muscles  relax,  as  his  sus- 
pense ended.  For  now  surely  the  slave  would 
be  brought  back.  The  merchant  turned  slowly; 
Warriner  turned  obediently  behind  him,  and  the 
obedience  went  to  Charnock's  heart.  It  spoke  of 
a  discipline  too  hideous.  Slowly  the  owner  returned 
to  Charnock;  it  seemed  that  he  would  never  speak. 

"  Twenty-five  dollars,"  he  said. 

With  an  effort  Charnock  mastered  his  face  and 
controlled  his  body.  "  Twenty,"  he  returned,  and 
spoke  of  the  slave's  age,  and  how  little  need  he 
had  of  him.  He  heard  the  newcomer  across  the 
market  haggling  over  the  negro  from  Timbuctoo. 
And  at  last,  —  at  last  the  word  was  spoken,  the 
man  he  had  come  to  search  for  was  his,  and  his 
inalienably,  so  long  as  he  remained  in  any  corner 
of  Morocco. 

Charnock  paid  the  money  ;  he  did  not  so  much 
as  glance  again  at  his  slave.  He  rose  from  his 
seat.  "  Follow  me,"  he  said  to  Warriner  in  Mogh- 
rebbin  ;  and  one  behind  the  other,  Miranda's  lover 
and  Miranda's  husband,  master  and  slave,  passed 
out  of  the  market  and  down  the  street  towards  the 
gate  of  Mequinez. 


CHAPTER   XX 

CHARNOCK,  LIKE  THE  TAXIDERMIST,  FINDS 
WARRINER  ANYTHING  BUT  A  COMFORTABLE 
COMPANION 

On  the  way  Charnock  stopped  at  the  fondak 
where  Hamet  slept,  and  bade  the  lad  saddle  the 
mules  and  bring  them  out  of  the  town.  Hamet 
looked  surprised,  for  nightfall  was  an  ill  time  to 
start  upon  a  journey  near  the  country  of  the 
Lemur  tribes,  but  he  was  accustomed  to  obey. 
Charnock's  new  slave  did  not  even  show  surprise. 
Leaving  Hamet  to  follow  him,  Charnock  passed 
through  the  gate.  He  dreaded  to  remain  in  the 
town  lest  by  some  misfortune  he  might  lose  his 
slave ;  and,  besides,  a  nausea  for  its  smells  and  its 
dirt  began  to  gain  upon  him.  He  walked  down 
the  slope  of  the  hill  to  the  olive  trees  and  the 
mossy  turf.  Lepers,  of  an  unimaginable  aspect, 
dragged  by  the  side  of  the  beaten  track  and 
begged;  robbers,  who  for  their  crimes  had  had 
their  eyes  burnt  out,  kept  pace  with  him,  their 
eyelids  closed  upon  red  and  empty  sockets  ;  dead 
horses,  mules,  and  camels  were  scattered   by   the 

267 


268  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY  chap. 

way,  their  carcases  half  devoured ;  everywhere 
were  ruins,  and  things  decaying  and  things 
decayed ;  and  over  all  was  a  sky  of  unbroken 
cloud,  and  a  chill  lugubrious  light. 

Charnock  observed  his  surroundings  with  newly- 
opened  eyes  and  hurried  on  till  he  reached  the 
olives.  Then  he  stopped  and  turned  to  watch  for 
Harriet's  coming.  He  turned  a  trifle  suddenly 
and  his  slave  instinctively  shrank  away  and  stood 
submissive  and  mute,  stilled  by  a  long  companion- 
ship with  despair.  And  this  was  a  captain  of  Her 
Majesty's  Artillery,  who  had  sailed  his  yacht  in 
and  out  of  Gibraltar  Bay  ! 

"  My  God,  how  you  must  have  suffered  !  "  cried 
Charnock,  and  he  spoke  in  the  English  tongue. 

Warriner  raised  a  dazed,  half-witted  face. 
"  Say  that  again,"  he  said  slowly,  and  he  spoke  in 
Arabic. 

"  My  God,  how  you  must  have  suffered  !  " 

Warriner  listened  with  one  forefinger  uplifted; 
he  moved  his  finger  backwards  and  forwards 
sawing  the  air.  "  Yes,"  he  answered,  and  this  time 
in  English  ;  but  his  mouth  was  awkward  and  the 
English  came  rustily  from  his  tongue.  "  Yes,  it 
has  been  a  hell  of  a  time." 

He  spoke  in  a  quite  expressionless  voice.  But 
whether  it  was  that  the  forgotten  sound  of  the 
tongue  he  used  awoke  in  his  dim  mind  faint 
associations  and  a  glimmer  of  memories,  of  a 
sudden  he  dropped  upon  the  turf  amidst  the  olive 
trees  and,  burying  his  face  in  the  moss,  sobbed 
violently  like  a  child. 

Charnock  let  him  lie  there  until  he  saw  Hamet 


xx  MIRANDA    OF    THE    BALCONY  269 

leading  the  mules  down  the  beaten  way  from  the 
town-gates.  Then  he  bent  down  and  touched 
Warriner  on  the  shoulder.  "  Here  is  my  servant 
—  do  you  understand?  —  my  servant." 

The  white  man's  pride  answered  the  summons. 
Warriner  got  quickly  to  his  feet  and  drew  a 
ragged  sleeve  across  his  face.  Then  he  looked 
round  between  the  withered  olives  at  that  grey 
cruel  ruin  of  a  city  looming  through  the  falling 
desolate  light,  and  shivered.  His  eyes  lighted 
upon  Hamet,  and  suddenly  opened  wide.  "Those 
mules,"  he  said  almost  fiercely.  "  They  are  yours  ? " 

"  Yes  !  " 

"  Let  us  ride  !  O  dear  God,  let  us  ride  !  " 
And  until  Hamet  reached  them,  his  head  darted 
this  way  and  that,  while  his  eyes  searched  the 
trees.  "  Mind,  you  bought  me,"  he  said.  "  I 
belong  to  you  ;  to  no  one  else.  How  far  from 
here  to  the  sea  ?  " 

"  Nine  days." 

"  Nine  days,"  and  he  counted  them  over  on  his 
fingers. 

Hamet  brought  up  the  mules.  Charnock 
unrolled  a  burnous  and  a  turban.  Warriner 
plucked  off  his  rags  and  put  on  the  dress.  Then 
the  three  men  rode  out  between  the  olive  trees, 
past  the  outer  rampart  of  breached  walls,  into  the 
open  plain. 

"  Shall  we  camp  ?  "  said  Charnock. 

Warriner  cast  a  look  across  his  shoulder. 
Mequinez  was  still  visible,  a  greyer  blot  upon  the 
grev  hillside.     "  No,"  said  he. 

They   rode   forward    over    carpets   of  flowers, 


270  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY         chap. 

between  the  hills.  The  light  fell ;  the  marigolds 
paled  beneath  their  mules'  feet ;  the  gentians 
became  any  flower  of  a  light  hue.  At  last  a  toothed 
savage  screen  of  rock  moved  across  Mequinez. 

"  Here,"  said  Warriner.  He  tumbled  rather 
than  dismounted  from  his  mule,  stretched  his 
limbs  out  upon  the  grass,  and  in  a  moment  was 
asleep.  Hamet  gathered  a  bundle  of  leaves  from 
a  dwarf  palm  tree  and  a  few  sticks,  lit  a  fire,  and 
cooked  their  supper.  Charnock  woke  Warriner, 
who  ate  his  meal  and  slept  again ;  and  all  that 
night,  with  a  Mouser  pistol  in  his  hand,  Charnock 
sat  by  his  side  and  guarded  him. 

The  next  morning  they  started  betimes ;  they 
passed  a  caravan,  farther  on  a  tent-village,  and 
towards  evening,  from  the  shoulder  of  a  hill  they 
looked  down  upon  the  vast  plain  of  the  Sebou. 
Level  as  a  sea  it  stretched  away  until  the  distinct 
colours  of  its  flower-patches  merged  into  one  soft 
blue. 

"  Eight  days,"  said  Warriner ;  and  that  night, 
as  last  night,  he  asked  no  questions  of  Charnock, 
but  ate  his  supper  and  so  slept ;  and  that  night 
again  Charnock  sat  by  his  side  and  guarded  him. 

But  the  next  morning  Warriner  for  the  first 
time  began  to  evince  some  curiosity  as  to  his  rescue 
and  the  man  who  had  rescued  him.  The  two  men 
had  just  bathed  in  a  little  stream  which  ran 
tinkling  through  the  grass  beside  their  camp. 
Warriner  was  kneeling  upon  the  bank  of  the 
stream  and  contemplating  himself  in  the  clear 
mirror  of  its  water,  when  he  said  to  Charnock : 
"  How  in  the  world  did  you  know  me  ?  " 


xx  MIRANDA    OF   THE   BALCONY  271 


"  By  your  eyes." 

"  We  are  not  strangers,  eh  ?  " 

"  I  hailed  you  from  a  hansom  cab  once  outside 
Lloyd's  bank  in  Plymouth.  You  expressed  an 
amiable  wish  that  I  should  sit  in  that  cab  and  rot 
away  in  my  boots.     Lucky  for  you  I  didn't ! ': 

"You  were  the  man  who  jammed  his  finger? 
I  remember ;  I  thought  you  had  got  a  warrant  in 
your  pocket.  By  the  way,"  and  he  lifted  his  head 
quickly,  "  you  never,  I  suppose,  came  across  a 
man  called  Wilbraham  ?  " 

"  Ambrose  ? " 

"Yes,  yes  ;  when  did  you  come  across  him  ? ' 

"  He  was  blackmailing  your  wife." 

"  Oh,  my  wife,"  said  Warriner,  suddenly,  as 
though  it  had  only  just  occurred  to  him  that  he 
had  a  wife.  He  turned  his  head  and  looked 
curiously  to  Charnock,  who  was  scrubbing  himself 
dry  some  yards  behind  him.  "  So  you  know  my 
wife  ? " 

"  Yes." 

"  Ah  !  "  Warriner  again  examined  his  face  in 
the  stream.  "  I  think  I  might  walk  straight  up 
from  the  Ragged  Staff,"  said  he,  wagging  his  grey 
beard,  "  and  shake  hands  with  the  Governor  of 
Gibraltar  and  no  one  be  a  penny  the  wiser." 
Then  he  paused.  "  So  you  know  Wilbraham,"  he 
said  slowly,  and  paused  again.  "  So  you  know  my 
wife  too ;  "  and  the  pair  went  to  their  breakfast. 

Warriner  walked  in  front  of  Charnock,  and  the 
latter  could  not  but  notice  how  within  these  two 
days  his  companion  had  changed.  His  back  was 
losing  its  timid  differential  curve;  there  was  less  of 


272  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY  chap. 

a  slink  in  his  walk  ;  he  no  longer  shrank  when  a 
loud  word  was  addressed  to  him.  Moreover,  his 
curiosity  increased,  and  while  they  were  at  break- 
fast he  asked  "  How  did  you  find  me  ? ' 

And  that  morning  as  they  rode  forwards  over 
the  marigolds  and  irises,  Charnock  told  him  of  his 
first  visit  to  Tangier  and  of  Hassan  Akbar.  "  So 
when  I  came  again,"  he  said  with  perhaps  a  little 
awkwardness  and  after  a  pause,  "  I  had  a  clue,  a 
slight  one,  but  still  a  clue,  and  I  followed  it." 

"  It  was  you  who  shouted  through  Fournier's 
shop-door,  was  it  ?  "  said  Warriner.  "  That's  the 
second  time  a  cry  of  yours  has  fairly  scared  me. 
So  you  know  Wilbraham,"  he  added  in  a  moment ; 
"  so  you  know  my  wife  too." 

They  halted  at  noon  under  a  hedge  of  cactus, 
and  Charnock,  tired  with  his  long  vigils,  covered 
his  head  and  slept.  Through  the  long  afternoon, 
over  pink  and  violet  flowers,  under  a  burning  sun, 
they  journeyed  drowsily,  with  no  conversation  and 
no  sound  at  all  but  the  humming  of  the  insects  in 
the  air  and  the  whistle  of  birds  and  the  brushing 
of  their  mules'  feet  through  the  grass.  That 
evening  they  crossed  the  Sebou  and  camped  a  few 
yards  from  the  river's  bank  in  a  most  lucid  air. 

It  was  after  supper.  Charnock  was  lying  upon 
his  back,  his  head  resting  upon  his  arms,  and  his 
eyes  upturned  to  the  throbbing  stars  and  the  rich 
violet  sky.  Warriner  squatted  cross-legged  beside 
a  dying  fire,  and  now  and  then,  as  a  flame  spirted 
up,  he  cast  a  curious  glance  towards  Charnock. 

"How  long  have  you  been  searching?'  he 
asked. 


xx  MIRANDA    OF   THE   BALCONY  273 

"Two  years,"  replied  Charnock. 

«  Why  ?  " 

The  question  was  shot  at  him,  in  a  sharp  chal- 
lenging voice.  Charnock  did  not  move  from  his 
position;  he  lay  resting  on  that  vast  plain  under 
the  fresh  night  sky  and  the  kindly  stars ;  but  he 
was  some  little  while  silent  before  he  answered, 
"  Your  wife  asked  me  to  come." 

Warriner  nodded  his  head  thoughtfully,  but 
said  no  more.  That  night  Charnock  did  not  keep 
watch,  for  they  were  across  the  Sebou  and  out  of 
the  perilous  country.  The  next  morning  they 
rode  on  towards  Alkasar  with  few  words  between 
them.  Only  Charnock  noticed  that  Warriner  was 
continually  glancing  at  him  with  a  certain  furtive- 
ness,  and  it  seemed  with  a  certain  ill-will.  Char- 
nock grew  restless  under  this  surveillance :  he 
resented  it;  it  made  him  vaguely  uneasy. 

They  rode  with  no  shadows  to  console  them 
until  the  afternoon  brought  the  clouds  over  the  top 
of  the  Atlas.  Towards  evening  they  saw  far  ahead 
of  them  the  town  of  Alkasar  amongst  its  gardens 
of  orange  trees  and  olives. 

"  We  shall  not  reach  it  to-night,"  said  Charnock, 
looking  up  at  the  sky. 

"  No,  thank  God,"  answered  Warriner,  fervently. 
"  No  towns  for  me  !     What  if  it  does  rain  ?  ' 

So  again  they  camped  in  the  open,  under  a 
solitary  wild  fig  tree,  and  the  rain  held  off.  They 
talked  indifferently  upon  this  subject  and  that, 
speculated  upon  news  of  Europe,  and  Charnock 
heard  something  of  Warriner's  comings  and  goings, 
his  sufferings  and  adventures.      But  the  talk  was 


274  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY  chap. 

forced,  and  though  now  and  again  Wilbraham's 
name,  and  now  and  again  Miranda's,  recurred,  it 
died  altogether  away. 

Warriner  broke  it  suddenly.  "  You  are  in  love 
with  my  wife,"  he  said. 

Charnock  started  up  on  his  elbow.  "What 
the  devil  has  that  got  to  do  with  you  ?  "  he  asked 
fiercely. 

The  two  men  eyed  one  another  across  the  leap- 
ing flames  of  the  fire.  "  Well,  you  have  a  right 
to  put  it  that  way,  no  doubt,"  said  Warriner. 

Charnock  sank  down  again.  He  felt  resent- 
ment throbbing  hot  within  him.  He  was  very 
glad  that  there  were  only  five  more  days  during 
which  he  and  Warriner  must  travel  together 
alone,  and  during  which  he  must  keep  ward 
over  the  man  he  had  rescued. 

But  the  next  day  was  one  of  peace.  The 
mere  proximity  of  a  Moorish  town  had  terrors 
for  Warriner.  His  eyes  turned  ever  towards  it, 
scared  and  frightened.  His  very  body  shrank 
and  took  on  a  servile  air.     Besides,  it  rained. 

"  We  might  sleep  in  Alkasar.  There  is  a  Jew 
I  stayed  with  coming  up ;  you  will  be  safe  there," 
said  Charnock. 

"  I  would  sooner  shiver  to  death  here,"  replied 
Warriner,  and  they  skirted  the  town. 

But  a  little  distance  from  the  gates  Charnock 
called  a  halt,  and  taking  Hamet  and  a  mule 
he  went  up  into  the  town.  He  sought  out  his 
Jew,  and  bought  a  tent,  which  he  packed  upon 
the  mule,  and  so  returned  to  where  Warriner 
crouched    and    hid    amongst   the   orange    trees. 


xx  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY  275 

Beyond  Alkasar  they  passed  through  a  long 
stretch  of  stubble,  whence  acres  of  wheat  had 
been  garnered,  and  at  night  the  two  men  sat  in 
the  opening  of  their  tent,  while  the  lad  Hamet 
drew  weird  melancholy  from   his  pipe. 

Warriner  was  silent ;  he  was  evidently  turning 
over  some  thought  in  his  mind,  and  his  mind, 
rusted  by  his  servitude,  worked  very  slowly.  A 
man  of  great  vindictiveness  and  jealousy,  he  was 
not  grateful  for  his  rescue ;  but  he  was  brooding 
over  the  motives  which  had  induced  Charnock 
to  come  in  search  of  him,  and  which  had  per- 
suaded Miranda  to  send  him  in  search.  War- 
riner had  never  cared  for  his  wife,  but  his  wife 
had  never  till  now  given  him  any  cause  for 
jealousy,  and  out  of  his  present  jealousy  there 
sprang  and  grew  in  his  half-crazy  and  disordered 
mind  a  quite  fictitious  passion. 

He  revealed  something  of  it  the  next  morning 
to  Charnock.  For  after  he  had  waked  up  and 
yawned,  after  he  had  watched  for  a  moment  the 
busy  shadow  of  Hamet  upon  the  tent-wall  and 
heard  the  light  crackle  of  the  breakfast  fire,  he 
roused  Charnock  with  a  shake  of  the  shoulder  and 
resumed  the  conversation  at  the  point  where  it  had 
been  broken  off  when  they  sat  by  the  camp-fire. 

"  But  I'll  tell  you  a  question  which  has  to  do 
with  me,  Charnock,"  he  said.  "  Is  my  wife  in 
love  with  you  ?  " 

"  You  damned  blackguard  !  "  cried  Charnock. 

"  Thanks  !  "  said  Warriner,  with  a  chuckle. 
"  That's  answer  enough." 

"  It's  no  answer  at  all !  "  exclaimed  Charnock, 


276  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONT  chap. 

hotly,  and  he  sat  up  amongst  his  blankets  and 
took  refuge  in  subterfuges.  "  If  what  you  say 
were  true,  is  it  likely  that  your  wife  would  have 
asked  me  to  find  you  out  and   bring  you  back  ?  " 

"  That's  the  very  point  I  have  been  consider- 
ing," returned  Warriner;  "and  I  think  it  uncom- 
mon likely.  Women  have  all  sorts  of  underground 
scruples  which  it's  difficult  for  a  man  to  get  up- 
side with,  and  I  can  imagine  a  woman  would  send 
off"  her  fancy  man  on  this  particular  business  as 
a  kind  of  set-off  and  compensation.     See  ?  " 

Charnock  dared  not  trust  himself  to  answer. 
He  got  up  and  walked  to  the  door  of  the  tent, 
unfastened  the  flap,  and  let  the  sunlight  in. 

"  Funny  thing  !  "  continued  Warriner,  "  I  never 
took  much  account  of  my  wife.  She  was  a  bit  too 
stately  for  me.  It  was  just  as  though  someone 
played  symphonies  to  you  all  day  when  you 
hankered  after  music  of  the  music-hall  type. 
But  somehow,  —  I  suppose  it's  seeing  you  doing 
the  heroic  and  all  for  her,  don't  you  know  ?  — 
somehow  I  am  getting  very  fond  of  her." 

Charnock  seemed  to  have  heard  not  a  single 
word.  He  stood  at  the  door  of  the  tent,  look- 
ing indifferently  this  way  and  that.  His  silence 
spurred  Warriner  to  continue.  "  I  tell  you  what, 
Charnock,"  he  said,  "you  had  better  run  straight 
with  me.  You'll  find  out  your  mistake  if  you 
don't.  I'll  tell  you  something  more :  you  had 
better  let  me  find  when  I  get  back  to  Ronda 
that  you  have  run  straight  with  me."  He  saw 
Charnock  suddenly  look  round  the  angle  of  the 
tent  and  then  shade  his  eyes  with  his  hand.     It 


xx  MIRANDA    OF    THE    BALCONY  277 

seemed  impossible  to  provoke  him  in  any  way. 
"  Mind,  I  don't  say  that  I  shall  take  it  much  to 
heart,  if  the  affair  has  stopped  where  you  say  it 
has."  Charnock  had  said  not  a  word  about  the 
matter,  as  Warriner  was  well  aware.  "  No,"  he 
continued,  "  on  the  contrary  ;  for  no  harm's  ac- 
tually done,  you  say,  and  my  wife  steps  down 
from  her  pedestal  on  to  my  level.  Understand, 
sonny  ?  —  What  are  you  up  to  ?     Here,  I  say." 

Charnock  had  stridden  back  into  the  tent. 
He  stooped  over  Warriner  and  roughly  plucked 
him  up  from  the  ground.  "  Stand  up,  will 
you  !  "   he  cried. 

"  Here,  I  say,"  protested  Warriner,  rather 
feebly  ;  "  you  might  be  speaking  to  a  dog." 

"  I  wish  I  was." 

At  that  Warriner  turned.  The  two  men's 
faces  were  convulsed  with  passion  ;  hatred  looked 
out  from  Warriner's  eyes  and  saw  its  image  in 
Charnock's. 

"  Get  out  of  the  tent,"  said  Charnock,  and 
taking  Warriner  by  the  shoulder,  he  threw  rather 
than  pushed  him  out. 

"  Now,  what's  that  ?  "  and  he  pointed  an  arm 
towards  the  east. 

"  That's  a  caravan." 

"  Quite  so,  a  caravan.  Perhaps  you  have  for- 
gotten what  you  said  to  me  outside  the  walls  of 
Mequinez.  You  belong  to  me,  you  remember. 
You're  mine  ;  I  bought  you,  and  I  can  sell  you 
if  I   choose." 

"  By  God,  you  wouldn't  do  that  !  "  cried 
Warriner.     His  years  of  slavery  rushed  back  on 


278  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY  chap. 

him.  He  saw  himself  again  tramping,  under  the 
sun,  with  a  load  upon  his  back  through  the  sand 
towards  Algiers,  over  the  hills  to  the  Sus  coun- 
try ;  he  heard  again  the  whistle  of  a  stick  through 
the  air,  heard  its  thud  as  it  fell  upon  his  body, 
and  felt  the  blow.  "My  God,  you  couldn't  do 
that ! '  And  seeing  Charnock  towering  above 
him,  his  face  hard,  his  eyes  gloomy,  he  clung  to 
his  arm.  "  Charnock,  old  man  !  You  wouldn't, 
would  you  ?  " 

"You'll  fetch  half  a  dozen  copper  flouss"  said 
Charnock. 

"  Look  here,  Charnock,  I  apologise.  See,  old 
man,  see  ?  I  am  sorry  ;  you  hear  that,  don't  you  ? 
Yes,  I'm  sorry.     It's  my  cursed  tongue." 

Charnock  shook  him  off.  "  We  left  your  rags 
behind,  I  believe,  so  you  can  keep  those  clothes. 
The  caravan  will  pass  us  in  an  hour."  Then 
Warriner  fell  to  prayers,  and  flamed  up  in  anger 
and  curses  and  died  down  again  to  whimpering. 
All  the  while  Charnock  stood  over  him  silent  and 
contemptuous.  There  was  no  doubt  possible  he 
meant  to  carry  out  his  threat.  Warriner  burst 
out  in  a  flood  of  imprecations,  and  Moorish  im- 
precations, for  they  came  most  readily  to  his 
tongue.  He  called  on  God  to  burn  Charnock's 
great-grandmother,  and  then  in  an  instant  he 
became  very  cunning  and  calm. 

"  And  what  sort  of  a  face  will  you  show  to 
Miranda,"  he  said  smoothly,  "when  you  get  back 
to  Ronda  ?     You  have  forgotten  that." 

Charnock  had  forgotten  it ;  in  his  sudden  access 
of  passion  he  had  clean  forgotten  it.     Warriner 


xx  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY  279 

wiped  the  sweat  from  his  face  ;  he  did  not  need  to 
look  at  Charnock  to  be  assured  that  at  this  moment 
hewasthemaster.  Hestuckhis  legs  apart  and  rested 
his  hands  upon  his  hips.  "  You  weren'tquite  playing 
the  game,  eh,  Charnock? '  he  said  easily.  "  Do 
you  think  you  were  quite  playing  the  game  ? ' 

From  that  moment  Warriner  was  master,  and 
he  was  not  inclined  to  leave  Charnock  ignorant 
upon  that  point.  Jealousy  burnt  within  him. 
His  mind  was  unstable.  A  quite  fictitious  passion 
for  his  wife,  for  whom  he  had  never  cared,  and  of 
whom  he  certainly  would  very  quickly  tire,  was 
kindled  by  his  jealousy  ;  and  he  left  no  word  un- 
spoken which  could  possibly  wound  his  deliverer. 
Charnock  bitterly  realised  the  false  position  into 
which  he  had  allowed  passion  to  lead  him  ;  and 
for  the  future  he  held  his  peace. 

"  Only  one  more  day,"  he  said  with  relief,  as 
they  saw  the  hills  behind  Tangier. 

"And  what  then,  Charnock?'  said  Warriner. 
"What  then?" 

What  then,  indeed  ?  Charnock  debated  that  ques- 
tion during  the  long  night,  the  last  night  he  was  to 
spend  under  canvas  in  company  with  Ralph  Warri- 
ner. Sometime  to-morrow  thev  would  see  the  mina- 
rets  of  Tangier  —  to-morrow  evening  they  would 
ride  down  across  the  Sok  and  sleep  within  the  town. 
What  then  ?  Passion  was  raw  in  these  two  men. 
It  was  a  clear  night ;  an  African  moon  sailed  the 
sky,  and  the  interior  of  the  tent  was  bright. 
Warriner  lay  motionless,  a  foot  or  two  away, 
wrapped  in  his  dark  coverings,  and  Charnock  was 
conscious  of  a  fierce  thrill  of  joy  when  he  remem- 


280  MIRANDA    OF   THE   BALCONT         chap. 

bered  Miranda's  confession  that  she  had  no  love 
left  for  her  husband.  He  did  not  attempt  to 
repress  it ;  he  hugged  the  recollection  to  his  heart. 
All  at  once  Warriner  began  softly  to  whistle  a 
tune ;  it  was  the  tune  which  he  had  whistled  that 
morning  at  the  gates  of  Tangier  cemetery,  it  was 
the  tune  which  Miranda  had  hummed  over  ab- 
sently in  the  little  parlour  at  Ronda,  and  which  had 
given  Charnock  the  clue  —  and  because  of  the  clue 
Warriner  was  again  whistling  the  tune  in  the  same 
tent  with  himself — a  day's  march  from  Tangier. 

Charnock  began  hotly  to  regret  that  he  had 
ever  heard  it,  that  he  had  charged  Hamet  to  repeat 
it,  and  that  so  he  had  fixed  it  in  his  mind.  He 
kicked  over  on  his  rugs,  and  he  heard  Warriner 
speak. 

"  You  are  awake,  are  you  ?  I  say,  Charnock," 
he  asked  smoothly,  "  did  Miranda  show  you  the 
graveyard  in  Gib  ?  That  was  my  youngster, 
understand?  —  mine  and  Miranda's." 

Charnock  clenched  his  teeth,  clenched  his  hand, 
and  straightened  his  muscles  out  through  all  his 
body,  that  he  might  give  no  sign  of  what  he  felt. 

"Bone  of  my  bone,"  continued  Warriner,  in  a 
silky,  drawling  voice,  "flesh  of  my  flesh,  —  and 
Miranda's."  Perhaps  some  deep  breath  drawn 
with  a  hiss  through  the  teeth  assured  Warriner 
that  his  speech  was  not  spoken  in  vain ;  for  he 
laughed  softly  and  hatefully  to  himself. 

Charnock  lay  quite  still,  but  every  vein  in  his 
body  was  throbbing.  He  had  one  thought  only 
to  relieve  him.  Warriner  had  said  the  last  utter- 
most word  of  provocation  ;  he  had  fashioned  it 


xx  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY  281 

out  of  the  dust  of  his  child,  when  but  for  that 
child  he  would  still  be  a  slave ;  and  out  of  the 
wifehood  of  Miranda,  when  but  for  Miranda 
Charnock  would  never  have  come  in  search  of 
him.  Rupert  IVarriner^  aged  two.  The  grave- 
stone, the  boy  looking  out  between  the  lattices, 
was  very  visible  to  Charnock  at  that  moment. 
He  was  in  the  mind  to  give  Warriner  an  account 
of  how  and  why  he  was  brought  to  see  it ;  but  he 
held  his  peace,  sure  that  whatever  gibes  or  stings 
Warriner  might  dispense  in  the  future,  they  would 
be  trifling  and  inconsiderable  compared  with  this 
monumental  provocation. 

He  was  wrong;  Warriner's  malice  had  yet 
another  resource.  Seeing  that  Charnock  neither 
answered  him  nor  moved,  he  got  up  from  his 
couch.  Charnock  saw  him  rummaging  amongst 
the  baggage,  hopping  about  the  tent  in  the  pale 
moonlight ;  the  shadow  of  his  beard  wagged  upon 
the  tent-wall,  and  all  the  while  he  chuckled  and 
whispered  to  himself.  Charnock  watched  his 
fantastic  movements  and  took  them  together  with 
the  man's  fantastic  words,  and  it  occurred  to  him 
then  for  the  first  time  to  ask  whether  Warriner's 
mind  had  suffered  with  his  body.  He  had  come 
to  this  point  of  his  reflections  when  Warriner, 
stooping  over  a  bundle,  found  whatever  it  was  for 
which  he  searched.  Charnock  heard  a  light  snick, 
like  the  cocking  of  a  pistol,  only  not  so  loud. 
Then  Warriner  hopped  back  to  Charnock's  side, 
knelt  down  and  thrust  something  into  the  palm  of 
Charnock's  hand.  Charnock's  fingers  closed  on  it 
instinctively  and  gripped  it  hard;  for  this  some- 


28 z  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY     chap,  xx 

thing  was  the  handle  of  a  knife  and  the  blade  was 
open. 

"  There  !  "  said  Warriner.  "  You  have  to 
protect  me.  This  is  the  last  night,  so  I  give  you 
the  knife  to  protect  me  with." 

He  hopped  back  to  his  rugs,  twittering  with 
pleasure  ;  and  turning  his  face  once  more  towards 
Charnock,  while  Charnock  lay  with  the  open  knife 
in  his  hand,  he  resumed,  "  My  boy,  Charnock  — 
mine  and  Miranda's  —  mine  and  Miranda's." 

The  next  evening  they  rode  over  the  cobblestones 
of  Tangier  and  halted  at  M.  Fournier's  shop. 


CHAPTER   XXI 

COMPLETES    THE    JOURNEYINGS    OF    THIS 
INCONGRUOUS    COUPLE 

M.  Fournier  received  the  wanderers  with 
an  exuberant  welcome.  He  fell  upon  Warriner's 
neck,  patted  him,  and  wept  over  him  for  joy  at  his 
return  and  for  grief  at  his  aged  and  altered  looks. 
Then  he  grasped  Charnock  with  both  hands. 
"  The  deliverer,"  he  cried,  "  the  friend  so  noble  !  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Warriner,  pleasantly  ;  "  ce  bon 
Charnock,  he  loves  my  wife." 

Within  half-an-hour  the  two  travellers  were 
shaved  and  clothed  in  European  dress. 

"  Would  anyone  know  me  ? '     asked  Warriner. 

"My  poor  friend,  I  am  afraid  not,"  answered 
Fournier,  and  Warriner  seemed  very  well  pleased 
with  the  answer. 

"  Then  we  will  go  and  dine,  really  and  properly 
dine,  at  a  hotel  on  champagne  wine,"  said  he. 

They  dined  at  a  window  which  looked  out 
across  the  Straits,  and  all  through  that  dinner 
Warriner's  face  darkened  and  darkened  and  his 
gaze  was  sombrely  fixed  towards  Gibraltar. 

283 


284  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY  chap. 

"  What  are  your  plans  ? '    asked  Fournier. 

"  The  first  thing  I  propose  to  do  is  to  walk  up  to 
the  cemetery  and  astonish  my  friend  Hassan 
Akbar." 

"  You  will  not  find  him.  The  Basha  thought  it 
wise  to  keep  him  safe  in  prison  until  you  were  found." 

"  He  has  been  there  two  years  then  ? "  said 
Warriner.  "  He  had  no  friends.  Then  he  is 
dead  ?  "  For  the  Moorish  authorities  do  not  feed 
the  prisoners  in  the  Kasbah. 

M.  Fournier  blushed.  "  No,  he  is  not  dead. 
He  would  have  starved,  but,  —  you  will  forgive  it, 
my  friend  ?  After  all  he  had  no  great  reason  to 
like  you,  —  I  sent  him  food  myself  every  day, — 
not  very  much,  but  enough,"  stammered  M. 
Fournier,  anxiously. 

Warriner  waved  his  hand.  "  It  is  a  small 
thing ;  yes,  I  forgive  you." 

"  And  he  may  go  free  ?  " 

"  Why  not?      He  will  not  catch  me  again." 

M.  Fournier's  face  brightened  with  admiration. 

"  Ah,  but  you  are  great,  truly  great,"  he 
exclaimed;  "my  friend,  you  are  magnanime I 
Now  tell  me  what  you  will  do." 

M.  Fournier's  magnanimous  friend  replied. 
"  The  boat  crosses  to  Algeciras  to-morrow.  I 
shall  go  up  to  Ronda.  And  you  ?  "  he  asked, 
turning  to  Charnock. 

"  I  shall  go  with  you,"  said  Charnock. 

"  Ce  bon  Charnock,"  said  Warriner,  with  a 
smile.     "  He  loves  my  wife." 

"  But  afterwards  ? '  Fournier  hurried  to  inter- 
pose.    "  Will  you  stay  at  Ronda  ?  " 


xxi  MIRANDA    OF    THE    BALCONY  285 

"  No." 

Warriner's  eyes  strained  out  across  the  water  to 
where  the  topmost  ridge  of  Gibraltar  rose  against 
the  evening  sky.  Since  his  rescue  two  thoughts 
had  divided  and  made  a  conflict  in  his  mind  ;  one 
was  his  jealousy  of  Charnock,  his  unreal  hot-house 
affection  for  Miranda ;  the  other  had  been  repre- 
sented by  his  vague  questions  and  statements  about 
Wilbraham.  He  was  now  to  speak  more  clearly, 
for  as  he  looked  over  to  the  Rock,  Wilbraham  was 
uppermost  in  his  mind. 

"You  did  not  know  Wilbraham,"  he  resumed. 
"  Charnock  did,  ce  bon  Charnock.  I  have  a  little 
account  to  settle  with  Wilbraham,  a  little  account 
of  some  standing,  and  now  there's  a  new  item  to 
the  bill.  The  scullion  !  Imagine  it,  Fournier. 
He  blackmailed  my  wife ;  blackmailed  Miranda! 
Do  you  understand  ? '  he  cried  feverishly. 
"  Miranda  !  You  know  her,  Charnock.  Fournier, 
how  often  have  I  spoken  of  her  to  you  ?  Miranda! ' 
And  words  failed  him,  so  inconceivable  was  the 
thought  that  any  man  should  bring  himself  to  do 
any  wrong  to  his  Miranda. 

M.  Fournier  stared.  As  he  had  once  told  Mrs. 
Warriner,  Ralph  had  spoken  to  him  of  Miranda  ; 
but  it  had  not  been  with  the  startling  enthusiasm 
which  at  present  he  evinced. 

"I  shall  settle  my  accounts  with  Wilbraham  first," 
continued  Warriner,  "  after  I  have  seen  Miranda. 
Did  you  know  it  was  Wilbraham  who  sold  the 
plans  of  the  Daventry  gun  ?  " 

"  Was  it  ?  "  exclaimed  Charnock. 

"  It  was,"  and  the  three  men  drew  their  chairs 


286  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY         chap. 

closer  together.  "  Wilbraham  was  a  money- 
lender's tout  at  Gib.  I  had  borrowed  money  and 
renewed ;  I  borrowed  again,  and  again  renewed. 
You  see,"  he  argued  in  excuse,  "  I  would  not 
touch  a  penny  of  my  wife's  estate ;  that  of  course 
was  sacred.      It  was  Miranda's  —  " 

"  And  settled  upon  Miranda,"  Charnock  could 
not  refrain  from  interposing. 

"  Don't  you  call  my  wife  by  her  christian  name, 
else  you  and  I  will  quarrel,"  exclaimed  Warriner, 
banging  his  fist  violently  upon  the  table,  and  M. 
Fournier  anxiously  signed  to  Charnock  to  be  silent. 

"  It  was  a  slip,"  said  Fournier,  and  soothingly 
he  patted  Warriner  on  the  shoulder.  "  Here  ! 
have  one  or  two  fine  champagne,  eh  ?  Now  go  on; 
we  are  all  of  us  good  friends.  You  borrowed 
twice  from  Wilbraham  and  did  not  pay ;  you 
would  not,  of  course.     Well  ?  " 

"  I  tried  to  borrow  a  third  time,"  continued 
Warriner  ;  "  but  Wilbraham  refused  unless  I  could 
ofTer  him  good  security.  He  himself  suggested  the 
plans  of  the  Daventry  gun.  He  swore  most 
solemnly  that  he  would  not  use  them  ;  he  would 
keep  them  as  a  security  for  three  weeks,  and  I 
wanted  his  money.  I  had  debts  to  pay,  debts  to 
my  brother  officers,  and  I  agreed.  He  lent  me 
the  money;  I  gave  him  the  plans,  and  he  went  off 
to  Paris  and  sold  them.  I  received  a  hint  one 
afternoon  that  the  mechanism  of  the  gun  was 
known,  and  I  ran  out  of  Gibraltar  that  evening. 
So,  you  see,  I  have  an  account  with  him  ;  and  it 
grows  and  grows  and  grows  upon  me  each  time 
that  I  see  that."      He  pointed  a  shaking  finger  to 


xxi  MIRANDA    OF    THE    BALCONY  287 

where  the  sharp  ridge  of  Gibraltar  cut  the 
evening  sky.  "  Now  that  I  can  go  where  I 
will  and  no  one  will  know  me,  I  will  get  the 
account  paid,  and  cut  a  receipt  in  full  with  a  knife 
right  across  Wilbraham's  face." 

His  voice  rose  and  quavered  with  a  feverish 
excitement,  his  eyes  shone  and  glittered  ;  it  seemed 
to  Charnock  there  was  madness  in  them.  M. 
Fournier's  eyes  met  his  and  they  exchanged  glances, 
so  M.  Fournier,  who  was  engaged  in  assiduously 
soothing  Warriner,  shared  the  conjecture.  Indeed, 
as  M.  Fournier  took  his  leave,  he  said  privately  to 
Charnock  :  "  My  poor  friend  !  what  will  be  the 
end  of  it  for  him?  His  wife  does  not  like  him 
and  he  will  follow  this  Wilbraham,  and  he  is 
not  himself." 

Charnock  was  lightinghis  candle  at  the  hall-table. 

"Yes,"  said  he,  slowly.  "  There  is  his  wife, 
there  is  Wilbraham,  there  is  himself;  what  is  to 
be  the  end  of  it  all  ?  " 

He  went  up  the  stairs  to  his  room.  His  room 
communicated  with  Warriner's,  and  taking  the  key 
from  the  door,  he  left  the  door  unlocked.  More 
than  once  as  he  tossed  upon  his  bed  vainly  reiterating 
the  question,  what  was  to  be  the  end,  he  heard  the 
latch  of  the  door  click,  he  saw  the  door  open 
slowly,  he  saw  a  head  come  cautiously  through  the 
opening ;  and  then,  as  he  lay  still,  Warriner  came 
hopping  across  the  room  to  his  bed.  Warriner 
came  to  assure  himself  that  Charnock  had  not 
stolen  a  march  upon  him  during  the  night;  he 
was  possessed  by  a  crazy  fear  lest  Charnock  should 
see  Miranda  before  himself. 


288  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONT  chap. 

On  the  following  afternoon  they  crossed 
together  to  Algeciras,  through  a  rough  sea  in  a 
strong  wind. 

"  It's  the  Levanter,"  said  Warriner  ;  "  there'll  be 
three  days  of  it."  He  looked  earnestly  at 
Gibraltar  as  the  boat  turned  into  the  bay.  "  Wil- 
braham,  Wilbraham,"  he  muttered  in  a  voice  of 
anticipation.  Then  he  turned  to  Charnock. 
"Mind,  we  go  up  to  Ronda  together!  We  shall 
have  to  stay  the  night  at  Algeciras.  Mind,  you 
are  not  to  charter  a  special  and  go  up  ahead  while 
I  am  asleep." 

Charnock  was  sorely  tempted  to  secure  an  en- 
gine, as  he  could  have  done,  but  Miranda  had  asked 
to  see  him  "  once  when  he  brought  Ralph  back," 
and  so  the  next  morning  they  travelled  together. 

At  noon  Charnock  saw  again  the  walnut  door 
encrusted  with  the  copper  nails,  and  Warriner  was 
already  hammering  upon  it  with  his  stick.  The 
moment  it  was  opened  he  rushed  through  without 
a  word,  thrusting  the  servant  aside. 

Charnock  followed  him,  but  though  he  followed 
he  had  the  advantage,  for  while  Warriner  gazed 
about  the  patio  into  which  for  the  first  time  he 
entered,  Charnock  ran  across  to  the  little  room 
in  which  Miranda  was  wont  to  sit.  He  opened 
the  door. 

"  Empty,"  said  Warriner,  from  behind  his 
shoulder,  and  he  pushed  past  Charnock  into  the 
room.  From  the  balcony  above  them  Jane  Holt 
spoke.  She  spoke  to  Charnock  as  she  ran  down 
the  stair. 

"  It's  you  at  last !     Miranda   is  at  Gibraltar. 


xxi  MIRANDA    OF    THE    BALCONY  289 

She  expected  to  hear  of  you,  and  thought  she 
would  hear  more  quickly  there.  She  has  been  ill, 
besides  ;  she  needed  doctors." 

"  111  ?  "  exclaimed  Charnock. 

"  Who  is  that  ?  "  asked  Miss  Holt,  glancing 
across  Charnock's  shoulder. 

"Ralph." 

"  Ralph  !  "  cried  out  Miss  Holt.    "  But  he's—" 

"Hush!" 

They  followed  Warriner  into  the  room,  and 
Charnock  closed  the  door. 

"Didn't  you  know?"  he  asked.  "I  went  to 
find  him." 

"  No,"  she  replied,  utterly  bewildered.  "  It 
seems  strange ;  but  Miranda  is  very  secret.  A 
little  unkind,  perhaps,"  and  then  her  voice  went  up 
almost  in  a  scream  as  Warriner  turned  towards 
her.     "  Ralph  !      Is  that  Ralph  ?  " 

"  Yes,  yes,  it's  Ralph,"  said  Warriner, and  all  the 
time  he  spoke,  he  trotted  and  hopped  and  danced 
about  the  room.  "  Ralph  Warriner,  to  be  sure;  a 
little  bit  aged,  eh,  Jane  Holt  ?  Little  bit  musty  ? 
Been  lyin'  too  long  in  the  churchyard  at  Scilly  — 
bound  to  alter  your  looks  that,  —  what?'  He 
skipped  over  to  the  writing  table  and  began  with  a 
seeming  aimlessness  to  pull  out  the  drawers. 
"  Where's  Miranda  ?  Does  she  know  her  lovin' 
husband's  here  ?  Why  don't  she  come  ?  Tell 
me  that,  Jane  Holt ! '  He  made  a  quick,  and  to 
Charnock  an  unintelligible,movementatthewriting 
table,  shut  up  a  drawer  with  a  bang,  and  the  next 
moment  he  had  ahandtightupon  Jane  Holt's  wrist. 
"  Where's  Miranda  ?     Quick  !  "  and  he  shook  her 


290  MIRANDA    OF    THE    BALCONY  chap. 

arm  fiercely,  but  with  a  sly  look  towards  Charnock; 
his  other  hand  he  thrust  into  his  pocket.  Charnock 
just  got  a  glimpse  ofa  sheet  of  paper  clenched  in  the 
fist.  Warriner  withdrew  his  hand  from  his  pocket 
empty.  He  had  stolen  something  from  the  writing 
drawer.  But  what  it  was  Charnock  could  not 
guess,  nor  did  he  think  it  wise,  in  view  of 
Warri tier's  excitement,  to  ask. 

"  Miranda's  at  Gibraltar,"  said  Miss  Holt,  quite 
alarmed  by  the  man's  extravagance.  "  I  told  you, 
she  is  ill." 

Warriner  waited  to  hear  no  more.  He  dropped 
her  arm.  "  At  Gibraltar,"  he  said,  and  ran  out  of 
the  room  across  the  patio.  Charnock  followed  him 
immediately.  "  He  must  not  go  alone,"  he  cried 
over  his  shoulder  to  Miss  Holt,  but  the  excuse  was 
only  half  of  his  motive.  Passion,  resentment, 
jealousy,  —  these  too  ordered  him  and  he  obeyed. 

Charnock  came  up  with  Warriner  at  the  railway 
station.  The  train  did  not  leave  Ronda  until 
three,  as  Charnock  might  have  known  and  so 
behaved  with  dignity  before  Miss  Holt ;  but  he 
was  beyond  the  power  of  argument  or  reflection. 
He  hurried  after  Warriner  and  caught  him  up,  and 
during  the  two  hours  of  waiting,  the  two  men 
kept  watch  and  ward  upon  each  other.  Together 
they  walked  to  the  hotel,  they  lunched  at  the  same 
table,  they  returned  side  by  side  to  the  station,  and 
seated  themselves  side  by  side  in  the  same  carriage  of 
the  train.  The  train  which  takes  four  hours  to  climb 
to  Ronda  runs  down  that  long  slope  ofa  hundred 
miles  in  two  hours.  Charnock  and  Warriner  took 
their  seats  in  a  coupe  at  the  end  of  the  last  carriage  ; 


xxi  MIRANDA    OF    THE    BALCONY  291 

they  rushed  suddenly  into  the  dark  straight  tunnels, 
and  saw  the  mouths  by  which  they  had  entered  as 
round  O's  of  light  which  contracted  and  contracted 
until  a  mere  pin's-point  of  sunshine  was  visible  far 
away,  and  then  suddenly  they  were  out  again  in  the 
daylight. 

There  were  certain  landmarks  with  which  Char- 
nock  was  familiar,  —  a  precipitous  gorge  upon  the 
right,  an  underground  river  which  flooded  out  from 
a  hillside  upon  the  left,  a  white  town  far  away  upon 
a  green  slope  like  a  flock  of  sheep  herded  together, 
and  finally  the  glades  of  the  cork  forest  with  the 
gleam  of  its  stripped  tree-trunks.  The  train  drew 
up  at  Algeciras  a  few  minutes  after  five. 

Charnock  and  Warriner  were  met  with  the  state- 
ment that  the  Levanter  of  yesterday  had  increased 
in  force,  and  by  the  order  of  the  harbour-master 
the  port  of  Algeciras  was  closed.  It  was  impossible 
to  make  the  passage  to  Gibraltar  —  and  Miranda 
was  ill.  She  had  needed  doctors,  Jane  Holt  had 
said.  Charnock's  fears  exaggerated  the  malady  ; 
she  might  be  dying;  she  might  die  while  he  and 
Warriner  waited  at  Algeciras  for  the  sea  to  sub- 
side. "  We  must  reach  Gibraltar  to-night,"  he 
cried. 

"  And  before  gunfire,"  added  Warriner.  "  But 
how  ?  " 

Charnock  went  straight  to  the  office  of  the 
manager  of  the  line.  The  manager  greeted  him 
with  warmth.  "  But,  man,  where  have  you  been 
these  two  years  ?  "  he  exclaimed. 

"  There's  a  station  at  San  Roque  half-way  round 
the    bay,"    said    Charnock.      "  I    must    get    into 


29 2  MIRANDA    OF   THE   BALCONY  chap. 

Gibraltar  to-night.  If  I  can  have  a  special  to  San 
Roque,  I  might  drive  the  last  nine  miles." 

Gibraltar  is  before  everything  a  fortress,  and  the 
gates  of  that  fortress  are  closed  for  the  night  at 
gunfire,  and  opened  again  for  the  day  at  gunfire  in 
the  morning. 

"  You  will  never  do  it,"  said  the  manager. 
"  The  gun  goes  off  at  seven." 

"  What's  the  month  ?  "  cried  Warriner. 

"July,"  answered  the  manager,  in  surprise. 

"And  the  day  of  July?" 

"  The  fifth." 

"  Good,"  cried  Warriner.  "  You  are  wrong;  on 
the  fifth  of  July  the  gun  goes  off  at  eight  —  from 
the  fifth  of  July  to  the  thirty-first  of  August." 

The  manager  uncoupled  one  carriage  and  the 
engine,  coupled  them  together  and  switched  them 
on  to  the  up-line.  Meanwhile  Charnock  tele- 
graphed to  the  station-master  at  San  Roque,  to 
have  a  carriage  in  readiness  ;  but  time  was  occu- 
pied, and  it  was  six  o'clock  before  the  engine 
steamed  into  San  Roque. 

San  Roque  is  a  wayside  station  ;  the  village 
lies  a  mile  away,  hidden  behind  a  hill.  Charnock 
and  Warriner  alighted  amongst  fields  and  thickets 
of  trees,  but  nowhere  was  there  a  house  visible, 
and  worst  of  all,  there  was  no  carriage  in  the 
lane  outside  the  station.  The  station-master  had 
ordered  one,  and  no  doubt  one  would  arrive.  He 
counselled  patience. 

For  half-an-hour  the  incongruous  companions, 
united  by  a  common  passion  and  a  mutual  hate, 
kicked  their  heels  upon  the  lonely  platform  of  San 


xxi  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY  293 

Roque.  Then  at  last  a  crazy,  battered,  creaking 
diligence,  drawn  by  six  broken-kneed,  sore-backed 
mules,  cantered  up  to  the  station  with  a  driver  and 
a  boy  upon  the  box,  whooping  exhortations  to  the 
mules  with  the  full  power  of  their  lungs. 

Charnock  and  Warriner  sprang  up  into  the 
hooded  seat  behind  the  box,  the  driver  turned 
his  mules,  and  the  diligence  went  off  at  a  canter, 
along  an  unmade  track  across  the  fields. 

It  was  now  close  upon  a  quarter  to  seven,  and 
nine  miles  lay  between  San  Roque  and  the  gates  of 
Gibraltar.  Moreover,  there  was  no  road  for  the 
first  part  of  the  journey,  merely  this  unmade  track 
across  the  fields.  The  two  men  urged  on  the 
driver  with  open-handed  promises;  the  driver 
screamed  and  shouted  at  his  mules  :  "  Hi  !  mules, 
here's  a  bull  after  you!'  He  counterfeited  the 
barking  of  dogs  ;  but  the  mules  were  accustomed 
to  his  threats  and  exhortations  ;  they  knew  there 
were  no  dogs  at  their  heels,  and  they  kept  to  their 
regular  canter. 

Charnock  longed  for  the  fields  to  end  and  for 
the  road  to  begin  ;  and  when  the  road  did  begin, 
he  longed  again  for  the  fields.  The  road  consisted 
of  long  lines  of  ruts,  ruts  which  were  almost 
trenches,  ruts  which  had  been  baked  hard  by  the 
summer  suns.  The  mules  stumbled  amongst  them, 
the  diligence  tossed  and  pitched  and  rolled  like  a 
boat  in  a  heavy  sea  ;  Charnock  and  Warriner  clung 
to  their  seats,  while  the  driver  continually  looked 
round  to  see  whether  a  wheel  had  slipped  off  from 
its  axle.  At  times  the  boy  would  jump  down  from 
the  box,  and  running  forward  with  the  whip  in  his 


294  MIRANDA    OF   THE   BALCONT  chap. 

hand,  would  beat  the  mules  with  the  butt-end ; 
the  lash  had  long  ceased  to  influence  their  move- 
ments. 

"  The  road's  infernal,"  cried  Warriner. 

"  It  will  be  when  we  get  to  the  sea,"  replied 
the  driver,  and  Charnock  groaned  in  his  distress. 
There  was  worse  to  come,  and  Miranda  was  ill. 

The  diligence  lurched  between  two  clumps  of 
juniper  trees,  swung  round  a  wall,  and  instantly 
the  wheels  sank  into  soft  sand.  The  huge,  sheer 
landward  face  of  Gibraltar  Rock  towered  up 
before  themas  they  looked  across  the  mile  of  neutral 
ground,  that  flat  neck  of  land  between  the  Medi- 
terranean and  the  Bay.  They  saw  the  Spanish 
frontier  town  of  Linea;  but  to  Linea  the  sand 
stretched  in  a  broad  golden  curve,  soft  and  dry, 
and  through  that  curve  of  sand  the  wheels  of  the 
diligence  had  to  plough.  The  mules  were  beaten 
onwards,  but  the  Levanter  blew  dead  in  their  teeth. 
The  driver  turned  the  diligence  towards  the  sea, 
and  drove  with  the  water  splashing  over  the 
wheels;  there  the  sand  bound,  and  the  pace  was 
faster. 

It  was  still,  however,  too  slow  ;  Gibraltar  seemed 
still  as  far  away.  The  travellers  paid  the  driver, 
leaped  from  their  seats,  and  ran  over  the  soft  clog- 
ging sand  to  Linea.  They  reached  Linea.  They 
passed  the  sentinel  and  the  iron  gates,  they  stood 
upon  the  neutral  ground.  They  had  but  one 
more  mile  to  traverse. 

A  cab  stood  without  the  iron  gates.  They 
jumped  into  it  and  drove  at  a  gallop  across  the 
level ;  but  the  gun  was  fired  from  the  Rock,  while 


xxi  MIRANDA    OF   THE   BALCONT  295 

they  were  still  half-a-mile  from  the  gate,  and  the 
cabman  brought  his  horses  to  a  standstill. 

"  What  now  ?  "  said  Warriner. 

"  We  might  get  in,"  said  Charnock. 

"  The  keys  are  taken  to  the  Governor.  There 
would  be  trouble  ;  there  always  is.  I  know  there 
would  be  questions  asked  ;  it  would  not  be  safe. 
I  might  slip  in  when  the  gates  are  open,  but  now 
it  would  not  be  safe.  And  mind,  Charnock,  when 
you  go  in  I  go  in  too." 

There  was  no  doubt  that  Warriner  meant  what 
he  said,  every  word  of  it.  For  Miranda's  sake 
Charnock  could  not  risk  Warriner's  detection. 
They  must  remain  outside  Gibraltar  for  that  night, 
even  though  during  the  night  Miranda  should  die. 

"  Can  we  sleep  at  Linea  ?  "  said  Charnock. 

"  No,  Linea  is  a  collection  of  workmen's  houses 
and  workmen's  pot-houses."  The  two  men  made 
their  supper  at  one  of  these  latter,  and  for  the 
rest  of  the  night  paced  the  neutral  ground  before 
Gibraltar. 

A  scud  of  clouds  darkened  the  sky,  and  one  pile 
of  cloud,  darker  than  the  rest,  lowered  stationary 
upon  the  summit  of  the  Rock.  All  night  the 
Levanter  blew  pitilessly  cold  across  that  unpro- 
tected neck  of  land  between  sea  and  sea.  With 
their  numbed  hands  in  their  pockets,  and  their 
coats  buttoned  to  the  throat,  Charnock  and 
Warriner,  accustomed  to  the  blaze  of  a  Morocco 
sun,  waited  from  nightfall  until  midnight,  and  from 
midnight  through  the  biting,  dreary  hours  till 
dawn. 

The  gates  were  opened  at  three  o'clock  in  the 


296  MIRANDA    OF   THE   BALCONY   chap,  xxi 

morning.  Together  the  two  men  went  through  ; 
they  had  still  hours  to  wait  before  they  could 
return  to  the  hotel.  They  breakfasted  together, 
and  they  let  the  time  go  by,  for  now  that  they 
were  within  reach  of,  almost  within  sight  of, 
Miranda  Warriner,  they  both  began  to  hesitate. 
What  was  to  be  the  end  ?  They  looked  at  one 
another  across  the  table  with  that  question  speak- 
ing from  their  eyes.  They  walked  down  to  the 
hotel  and  faced  each  other  at  the  door,  and  the 
question  was  still  repeated  and  still  unanswered. 
They  turned  away  together  and  strolled  a  few 
yards,  and  turned  and  came  back  again.  This 
time  Charnock  entered  the  hotel.  "  Is  Mrs. 
Warriner  in  ?  "  he  asked. 

The  waiter  replied,  "Yes." 

Charnock  drew  a  long  breath.  Surely  if  much 
had  been  amiss  with  her  the  waiter  would  have 
told  them  ;  but  he  said  nothing,  he  merely  led 
the  way  upstairs. 


CHAPTER   XXII 

IN     WHICH     CHARNOCK     ASTONISHES     RALPH 
WARRINER 

The  waiter  threw  open  the  door,  the  two  men 
entered,  and  Warriner  shut  the  door.  Miranda 
rose  from  a  chair  and  stood  looking  from  Charnock 
to  Warriner  and  back  again  from  Warriner  to 
Charnock ;  and  as  yet  no  word  was  spoken  by 
anyone  of  them.  Charnock  had  time  to  note,  and 
grieve  for,  the  pallor  of  her  face  and  the  purple 
hollows  about  her  eyes.  Then  she  moved  forward 
for  a  step  or  two  quite  steadily ;  she  murmured  a 
name  and  the  name  was  not  Ralph  ;  and  then  sud- 
denly, without  any  warning,  she  fell  to  the  ground 
between  Charnock  and  her  husband,  and  lay  still 
and  lifeless. 

"  My  God,  she's  dead  !  "  whispered  Warriner. 
"  We  should  have  sent  word  of  our  coming. 
We  have  killed  her,"  and  then  he  stopped.  For 
Charnock  was  standing  by  the  side  of  Miranda 
and  talking  down  to  her  as  she  lay,  in  a  low,  soft, 
chiding  voice. 

"  Come,"  he  was  saying,  "  it's  what  you  wished. 

297 


298  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY  chap. 

You  will  be  glad  when  you  have  time  to  think  over 
it  and  understand.  There  is  no  reason  why  you 
should  —  " 

This  intimate  talking  with  the  lifeless  woman 
came  upon  Warriner  as  something  horrible.  "Man, 
can't  you  see?  "he  whispered  hoarsely.  "She's  dead, 
Miranda  is.     We  have  killed  her,  you  and  I." 

Charnock  slowly  turned  his  head  towards  War- 
riner and  looked  at  him  steadily  with  his  eyebrows 
drawn  down  over  his  eyes.  Somehow  Warriner 
was  frightened  by  that  glance;  he  felt  a  chill  creep 
down  his  spine  ;  he  was  more  frightened  than  even 
on  that  morning  when  Charnock  threatened  to  sell 
him  outside  Alkasar.  "  She's  dead,  I  tell  you," 
he  babbled,  and  so  was  silent. 

Charnock  looked  back  to  Miranda,  sank  upon 
one  knee  by  her  side,  and  bending  his  head  down 
began  to  whisper  to  her  exhortations,  gentle  re- 
proaches at  her  lack  of  courage,  and  between  his 
words  he  smiled  at  her  as  at  a  wayward  child. 

"  There  is  no  reason  to  fear,"  the  uncanny  talk 
went  on  ;  "  and  it  hurts  us  !  You  don't  know 
how  much.  You  might  as  well  speak,  not  be  like 
this — pretending."  He  reached  over  her  and  took 
her  hand,  cherished  it  in  his  own,  and  entwined  his 
fingers  with  her  fingers  and  then  laughed,  as  though 
her  fingers  had  responded  to  his  own.  "  You  are 
rather  cruel,  you  know." 

Warriner  moved  uneasily.  "Charnock,  I  tell 
you  Miranda's  —  " 

Charnock  flung  his  other  arm  across  her  body 
and  crouched  over  it,  glaring  at  Warriner  like  a 
beast  about  to  spring. 


xxii  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY  299 

"  And  I  tell  you  she's  not,  she's  not,  she's  not ! " 
he  hissed  out.  "  Dead !  "  and  suddenly  he  lifted  up 
Miranda's  head,  held  it  in  the  hollow  of  his  arm  and 
kissed  the  face  upon  the  forehead  and  the  lips. 
"  Dead?"  and  he  broke  out  into  a  laugh.  "Is 
she  ?  I'll  show  you.  Come  !  Come  ! ':  He 
forced  his  disengaged  arm  underneath  her  waist, 
and  putting  all  his  strength  into  the  swing  lifted 
himself  on  to  his  feet,  and  lifted  Miranda  with  him. 
"  Now  don't  you  see  ? '  Warriner  was  standing, 
his  mouth  open,  his  eyes  contracted  ;  there  was 
more  than  horror  expressed  in  them,  there  was 
terror  besides. 

"  Don't  you  see  ?  "  cried  Charnock,  in  a  wild 
triumph.  "  Perhaps  you  are  blind.  Are  you 
blind,  Ralph  Warriner?" 

He  held  Miranda  supportedagainst  his  shoulder, 
and  swung  her  up  and  tried  to  set  her  dangling 
feet  firm-planted  on  the  ground  ;  but  her  limbs 
gave,  her  head  rolled  upon  his  shoulder.  He 
hitched  her  up  again,  her  head  fell  back  exposing 
the  white  column  of  her  throat.  The  heavy 
masses  of  her  hair  broke  from  their  fastenings, 
unrolled  about  her  shoulders,  and  tumbled  about 
his.  He  tried  again  to  set  her  on  her  feet,  and  her 
head  fell  forward  upon  his  breast,  and  her  hair 
swept  across  his  lips.  "  There,  man,"  he  cried, 
"  she  can  stand.  .  .  .  Can  a  dead  woman 
stand  ?  Tell  me  that ! '  He  held  her  so  that  she 
had  the  posture,  the  semblance,  of  one  who  stands, 
though  all  her  weight  was  upon  his  arm.  His 
laughter  rose  without  any  gradation  to  the  pitch  of 
a  scream,  sank  without  gradation  to  a  hoarse  cry. 


300  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY         chap 

"  Why,  she  can  walk  !  Can  a  dead  woman  walk  ? 
See  !  See  !  "  And  suddenly  he  dropped  his  arm 
from  her  waist,  and  stood  aside  from  her,  holding 
her  hand  in  his.  Instantly  her  figure  curved  and 
broke.  She  swung  round  towards  him  upon  the 
pivot  of  his  hand,  and  as  she  swung  she  stumbled 
and  fell.  Charnock  caught  her  before  she  reached 
the  ground,  lifted  her  up,  strained  her  to  his  breast, 
and  held  her  so.  One  deep  sob  broke  from  him, 
shook  him,  and  left  him  trembling.  He  carried 
Miranda  to  a  couch,  and  there  gently  laid  her 
down.  Gently  he  divided  her  hair  back  from  her 
temples  and  her  face ;  he  crossed  her  hands  upon 
her  breast,  watched  her  for  a  second  as  she  lay, 
her  dress  soiled  with  the  dust  of  his  journeyings  ; 
and  then  he  dropped  on  his  knees  by  the  couch, 
and  with  a  set  white  face,  with  his  eyelids  shut 
tight  upon  his  eyes,  in  a  low,  even  voice  he 
steadily  blasphemed. 

Some  time  later  a  hand  was  laid  upon  his 
shoulder  and  a  strange  voice  bade  him  rise.  He 
stood  up  and  looked  at  the  stranger  with  a  dazed 
expression  like  one  who  comes  out  of  the  dark 
into  a  lighted  room.  Warriner  also  was  in  the 
room.  Charnock  caught  a  word  here  and  there  ; 
the  stranger  was  speaking  to  him  ;  Charnock 
gathered  that  the  stranger  was  a  doctor,  and  that 
Warriner  had  fetched  him. 

"  But  she's  dead,"  said  Charnock,  resentfully. 
"Why  trouble  her?  she's  dead."  And  looking 
down  to  Miranda,  he  saw  that  there  was  a  faint 
flush  of  pink  upon  her  cheeks,  where  all  had  been 
white  before.     "  But  you  said  she  was  dead,"  he 


xxn  MIRANDA    OF   THE   BALCONY  301 

said  stupidly  to  Warriner,  and  as  the  doctor  bent 
over  her,  it  broke  in  upon  him  that  she  was  in 
truth  alive,  that  she  had  but  swooned,  and  the 
shame  of  what  he  had  done  came  home  to  him. 
"  I  was  mad,"  he  said,  "  I  was  mad." 

"  Go,"  said  the  doctor,  "  both  of  you." 

"  I  can  stay,"  said  Warriner.  "  This  is  Mrs. 
Warriner;  I  am  her  husband,  Ralph  Warriner." 
The  doctor  looked  up  sharply.  Warriner  simply 
nodded  his  head.  "  Yes,  yes,"  he  said ;  "  and 
this  is  Charnock.  Ce  bon  Charnock.  You  see, 
he  loves  my  wife." 

Warriner  spoke  slowly  and  in  an  inexpressive 
voice,  as  though  he  too  was  hardly  aware  of  what 
he  said.  The  conviction  that  Miranda  was  dead 
had  come  with  equal  force  to  both  of  these  two 
men,  and  the  knowledge  that  she  was  not  brought 
an  equal  stupefaction.  Warriner  remained  in  the 
room  ;  Charnock  went  outside  and  down  the  stairs. 

He  came  to  his  senses  in  the  streets  of  Gibraltar, 
and  looking  backwards,  seemed  to  himself  to  have 
lost  them  weeks  ago  somewhere  between  Mequinez 
and  Alkasar,  in  a  profitless  rivalry  for  a  woman 
who  could  not  belong  to  him.  In  the  present 
revulsion  of  his  feelings  he  was  conscious  that  he 
had  lost  all  his  enmity  towards  Warriner.  He 
walked  down  to  the  landing-stage  at  the  Mole. 
The  Levanter  had  spent  its  force  during  the 
night ;  the  sea  had  gone  down  ;  a  steamer  was 
dropping  its  anchor  in  the  bay.  Charnock  was  in 
two  minds  whether  or  no  to  cross  the  harbour  to 
Algeciras,  where  Warriner  and  himself  had  left 
their   traps  the    day  before,  gather    together  his 


302  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY  chap,  xxii 

belongings,  and  sail  for  England  in  that  steamer. 
He  had  done  all  that  he  had  been  enjoined  to  do  ; 
he  had  brought  Warriner  back ;  he  had  even,  as 
he  had  promised,  paid  the  one  last  visit  to 
Miranda.  But,  —  but,  he  might  be  wanted,  he 
pleaded  to  himself,  and  so  undecided  he  wandered 
about  the  streets,  and  in  the  afternoon  came  back. 
to  the  hotel. 

The  waiter  was  watching  for  his  return.  Mrs. 
Warriner  wished  to  speak  with  him.  There  was 
no  sign  of  Warriner.  Charnock  mounted  the 
stairs.  There  was  no  sign  of  Warriner  within  the 
sitting-room.  Miranda  was  alone,  and  from  the 
frank  unembarrassed  way  with  which  she  held  out 
her  hand,  Charnock  understood  that  she  knew 
nothing  of  what  had  passed  in  the  morning. 


CHAPTER   XXIII 

RELATES    A    SECOND    MEETING    BETWEEN    CHARNOCK 

AND    MIRANDA 

"  I  was  afraid  you  had  gone  without  my 
thanks,"  she  said;  "and  thanks  are  the  only 
coin   I   have  to  pay  you  with." 

"Surely  there  needs  no  payment." 

"  I  should  have  thanked  you  this  morning ; 
but  your  return  overcame  me,  I  had  hoped  and 
prayed  so  much  for  it." 

The  scream  of  the  P.  and  O.'s  steam-whistle 
sounded  through  the  room.  They  both  turned 
instinctively  to  the  window,  they  saw  the  last  late 
boat-load  reach  the  ship's  side,  and  in  a  moment 
or  so  they  heard  the  rattle  of  the  anchor-chain. 

"And  Ralph  ?  '    asked  Charnock. 

Miranda  pointed  to  the  steamer.  Already  the 
white  fan  of  water  streamed  away  from  its  stern. 

"  He  has  sailed  ?  " 

"Yes.  He  could  not  stay  here.  His — " 
she  paused  for  a  second  and  then  spoke  the 
word  boldly,  "  his  crime  was  hushed  up,  but  it 
is  of  course  known  here  to  a  few,  and  all  knot 

303 


304  MIRANDA    OF   THE   BALCONT  chap. 

that  there  is  something.  He  told  his  name  to 
the  doctor.  It  was  not  safe  for  him  to  stay  over 
this  morning." 

"  He  has  gone  to  England  ?  " 

"  Yes,  but  he  will  leave  England  immediately. 
He  promised  to  write  to  me,  so  that  I  may  know 
where  he  is." 

More  of  Warriner's  interview  with  his  wife, 
neither  Charnock  nor  anyone  ever  knew. 
Whether  he  asked  her  to  come  with  him  and 
she  refused,  or  whether,  once  he  saw  her  and 
had  speech  with  her,  his  fictitious  passion  died 
as  quickly  as  it  had  grown  —  these  are  matters 
which  Miranda  kept  locked  within  her  secret 
memories.  At  this  time  indeed  such  questions 
did  not  at  all  occur  to  Charnock.  As  he  watched 
the  great  steamer  heading  out  of  the  bay,  and  un- 
derstood that  he  must  be  taking  the  same  path, 
he  was  filled  with  a  great  pity  for  the  lonely 
woman  at  his  side.  The  thought  of  her  home  up 
there  in  the  Spanish  hills  and  of  her  solitary,  dis- 
contented companion  came  to  him  with  a  new  and 
poignant  sadness.  Ronda  was  no  longer  a  fitting 
shrine  for  her  as  his  first  fancies  had  styled  it,  but 
simply  a  strange  place  in  a  strange  country. 

"  Why  don't  you  go  home  to  your  own  place, 
to  your  own  people  ?  "  he  suggested  rather  than 
asked. 

Miranda  was  silent  for  a  while.  "  I  have  thought 
of  it,"  she  said  at  length ;  "  I  think  too  that  I 
shall.  At  first,  there  was  the  disgrace,  there  was 
the  pity  —  I  could  not  have  endured  it;  besides, 
there  was  Rupert.     But  —  but  —  I  think  I  shall." 


xxni  MIRANDA    OF    THE    BALCONY  305 

"  I  should,"  said  Charnock,  decidedly.  "  I 
should  be  glad,  too,  to  know  that  you  had  made 
up  your  mind  to  that.  I  should  be  very  glad 
to  think  that  you  were  back  at  your  own  home." 

"  Why  ?  "  she  asked,  a  little  surprised  at  his 
earnestness. 

"  Of  course,  I  wasn't  born  to  it,"  he  replied 
disconnectedly ;  "  but  now  and  then  I  have 
stayed  at  manor-houses  in  the  country ;  and 
such  visits  have  always  left  an  impression  on 
me.      I   would    have  liked  myself  to  have  been 

J 

born  of  the  soil  on  which  I  lived,  to  have  lived 
where  my  fathers  and  grandfathers  lived  and 
walked  and  laughed  and  suffered,  in  the  same 
rooms,  under  the  same  trees,  enjoying  the  associa- 
tions which  they  made.  Do  you  know,  I  don't 
think  that  that  is  a  privilege  lightly  to  be  foregone." 
And  for  a  while  again  they  both  were  silent. 

Then  Miranda  turned  suddenly  and  frankly 
towards  him  :  "  I  should  like  so  much  to  show  you 
my  home."  She  had  said  much  the  same  on  that 
first  evening  of  their  meeting  in  Lady  Donnis- 
thorpe's  balcony,  as  they  both  surely  remembered. 

"  I  should  like  much  to  see  it,"  returned  Char- 
nock, gently  ;  "  but  I  am  a  busy  man."  Miranda 
coloured  at  the  conventional  excuse,  as  Charnock 
saw.  "  But  it  was  kind  of  you  to  say  that.  I 
was  glad  to  hear  it,"   he  added. 

It  was  not  to  the  addition  she  replied,  but  to 
his  first  excuse.  "  As  it  is,  you  have  lost  two 
years.     I   have  made  you  lose  them." 

"Please!"  he  exclaimed.  "  You  won't  let  that 
trouble  you.     Promise  me !     I  am  a  young  man; 


306  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY     chap,  xxm 

it  would  be  a  strange  thing  if  I  could  not  give  two 
years  to  you.  Believe  me,  Mrs.  Warriner,  when 
my  time  comes,  and  I  turn  my  face  to  the  wall, 
whatever  may  happen  between  now  and  then,  I 
shall  count  those  two  years  as  the  years  for  which 
I  have  most  reason  to  be  thankful." 

Miranda  turned  abruptly  away  from  him  and 
looked  out  of  the  window  with  intense  curiosity  at 
nothing  whatever.  Then  she  said  in  a  low  voice: 
"  I  hope  that's  true  ;  I  hope  you  mean  it;  I  believe 
you  do.  I  have  been  much  troubled  by  an  old 
theory  of  yours,  that  a  woman  was  a  brake  on  the 
wheel  going  up  hill,  and  a  whip  in  the  driver's 
hand  going  down." 

"  I  will  give  you  a  new  theory  to  replace  the 
old,"  he  answered.  "  There  are  always  things  to 
do,  you  know.  Suppose  that  a  man  has  cared  for 
a  woman,  has  set  her  always  within  his  vision,  has 
always  worked  for  her,  for  a  long  while,  and  has  at 
last  come  surely,  against  his  will,  to  know  that  she 
was  .  .  .  despicable,  why  then,  perhaps  he  might 
have  reason  to  be  disheartened.  But  otherwise  — 
well,  he  has  things  to  do  and  memories  to  quicken 
him  in  the  doing  of  them." 

"  Thank  you,"  she  said  simply.  "  I  think  what 
you  say  is  true.  I  once  met  a  man  who  found  a 
woman  to  be  despicable,  and  the  world  went  very 
ill  with  him." 

It  was  of  Major  Wilbraham  she  was  thinking, 
who  had  more  than  once  written  to  Miranda  during 
these  two  years,  and  whose  last  letter  she  imagined 
to  be  lying  then  in  a  drawer  of  her  writing-table 
at  Ronda. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

A     MIST     IN     THE     CHANNEL     ENDS,    AS     IT     BEGAN, 

THE     BOOK 

But  that  letter  was  in  Ralph  Warriner's  pocket, 
as  he  walked  the  deck  of  the  P.  and  O.  It  was 
dated  from  a  hotel  at  Dartmouth,  whence,  said  the 
Major,  he  was  starting  on  a  little  cruise  westwards 
in  the  company  of  a  young  gentleman  from  Oxford 
who  owned  a  competence  and  a  yacht.  The 
Major  would  be  back  at  Dartmouth  in  some  six 
weeks'  time  and  hoped,  for  Mrs.  Warriner's  sake, 
that  he  would  find  a  registered  letter  awaiting  him. 
The  Major  was  still  upon  his  cruise,  as  Ralph 
Warriner  was  assured  from  the  recent  date  of  the 
letter. 

Warriner  disembarked  at  Plymouth  and  took 
train  to  Dartmouth,  where  he  learned  the  name  of 
the  yacht  by  merely  asking  at  the  hotel.  He  tried 
to  hire  a  steam  launch,  for  sooner  or  later  in  one 
of  the  harbours  he  would  be  sure  to  come  up  with 
Wilbraham,  if  he  only  kept  a  sharp  eye;  but 
steam  launches  are  difficult  to  hire  at  this  season  of 
the  year,  and  in  the  end  he  had  to  content  himself 

307 


308  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY         chap. 

with  chartering  a  ten-ton  cutter.  He  engaged 
one  hand,  by  whose  testimony  the  history  of 
Ralph's  pursuit  came  to  be  known,  and  sailed  out 
of  Dartmouth  to  the  west.  He  sailed  out  in  the 
morning,  and  coming  to  Salcombe  ran  over  the 
bar  on  the  tail  of  the  flood,  but  did  not  find  his 
quarry  there,  and  so  beat  out  again  on  the  first 
of  the  ebb  and  reached  past  Bolt  Head  and  Bolt 
Tail,  across  Bigbury  Bay  with  its  low  red  rocks,  to 
Plymouth.  Wilbraham  had  anchored  in  the  Catt- 
water  only  two  days  before ;  the  yacht  was  a 
yawl,  named  the  Monitor  ^  and  was  making  for  the 
Scillies.  Warriner  laughed  when  he  picked  up  word 
about  the  destination  of  the  yacht,  and  thought  it 
would  be  very  appropriate  if  he  could  overhaul 
the  Monitor  somewhere  off  Rosevear.  As  to  what 
course  he  intended  to  pursue  when  he  caught 
Wilbraham,  he  had  no  settled  plan ;  but  on  the 
other  hand  he  had  a  new  revolver  in  his  berth. 

He  put  out  from  Plymouth  under  a  light 
breeze,  which  failed  him  altogether  when  he  was 
abreast  of  Rame  Head.  Through  the  rest  of  the 
day  he  drifted  with  the  tide  betwixt  Rame  Head 
and  Plymouth.  The  night  came  upon  him 
jewelled  with  stars,  and  a  light  mist  upon  the 
surface  of  the  water ;  all  that  night  he  swung  up 
and  down  some  four  miles  out  to  sea  within  view 
of  Plymouth  lights,  but  towards  morning,  a  fitful 
wind  sprang  up,  drove  the  cutter  as  far  as 
Polperro,  and  left  it  becalmed  on  a  sea  of  glass,  in 
front  of  the  little  white  village  in  the  wooded  clifF- 
hollow,  while  the  sun  rose.  Warriner  opened  the 
narrow  line  of  blue  water  which  marks  the  mouth 


xxiv  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY  309 

of  the  Fowey  river  at  eleven  o'clock  of  the 
morning,  and  anchored  in  Fowey  harbour  about 
twelve.  It  was  a  Sunday,  and  though  the  Monitor 
was  not  at  Fowey,  Warriner  determined  to  stay  at 
his  anchorage  till  the  morrow. 

The  Brixham  fisherman  who  served  him  upon 
this  cruise  relates  that  Warriner  displayed  no 
impatience  or  anxiety  at  any  time.  Of  the  febrile 
instability  which  had  set  his  thoughts  flying  this 
way  and  that  during  the  days  of  his  companionship 
with  Charnock,  there  was  no  longer  any  trace  in  his 
demeanour.  Perhaps  it  was  that  he  was  so  certain 
of  attaining  his  desires ;  perhaps  the  long  lesson  of 
endurance  which  he  had  been  painfully  taught  in 
Morocco  now  bore  its  fruit ;  perhaps  too  he  had 
acquired  something  of  the  passive  fatalism  of  the 
Moorish  race.  During  this  Sunday  afternoon,  his 
last  Sunday  as  it  proved,  he  quietly  sculled  the 
dinghy  of  his  cutter,  when  the  tide  was  low, 
through  the  mud  flats  of  the  Fowey  river  to 
Lostwithiel ;  and  coming  down  again  when  the 
river  was  full,  lay  for  a  long  time  upon  his  oars 
opposite  a  certain  church  that  lifts  above  a  clump 
of  trees  on  the  river-bank.  There  he  remained 
listening  to  the  roll  of  the  organ  and  the  sweet 
voices  of  the  singers  as  they  floated  out  through 
the  painted  windows  into  the  quiet  of  the  summer 
evening;  when  the  service  was  over  he  bent  to  his 
sculls  again  and  rowed  back  between  the  steep  and 
narrowing  coppices,  but  it  was  dark  before  he 
turned  the  last  shoulder  of  hill  and  saw  the  long 
lines  of  riding-lights  trembling  upon  the  water. 

Warriner  raised  his  anchor  early  on  the  Monday 


310  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY  chap. 

morning,  and  having  the  wind  on  his  quarter, 
made  Falmouth  betimes.  At  Falmouth  he  learned 
that  the  Monitor  had  put  out  past  St.  Anthony's 
light  only  the  day  before  and  had  sailed  westwards 
to  Penzance. 

Warriner  followed  without  delay,  and  when  he 
was  just  past  the  Manacle  rocks,  the  wind 
dropped.  With  the  help  of  the  tide  and  an 
occasional  flaw  of  wind,  he  worked  his  cutter 
round  the  Lizard  Point  and  laid  her  head  for 
Penzance  across  the  bay;  and  it  was  then  that  the 
fog  took  him.  It  crept  out  of  the  sea  at  about 
four  of  the  afternoon,  a  thin  grey  mist,  and  it 
thickened  into  a  dense  umber  fog. 

The  fog  hung  upon  the  Channel  for  thirty 
hours.  The  cutter  swung  into  the  bay  with  the 
tide.^  The  Brixham  fisherman  could  hear  all  along, 
to  his  right  hand,  the  muffled  roar  as  the  ground- 
swell  broke  upon  the  Lizard  rocks,  and  the 
sucking  withdrawal  which  told  that  those  rocks 
were  very  near.  The  Lizard  fog-horn,  which 
sounded  a  minute  ago  abreast  of  them,  sounded 
now  quite  faintly  astern.  The  boat  swung  with 
the  tide  and  would  not  steer ;  yet  Warriner 
betrayed  no  alarm  and  no  impatience  at  the  check. 
He  sat  on  the  deck  with  a  lantern  by  his  side  and 
drew,  said  the  fisherman,  a  little  flute  or  pipe  from 
his  pocket,  on  which  he  played  tunes  that  were  no 
tunes,  and  from  which  he  drew  a  weird  shrill 
music  of  an  infinite  melancholy  and  of  infinite 
suggestions.  Once  the  Brixham  man  crouched 
suddenly  by  the  gunwale  and  peered  intently  over 
the  boat's  side.     At  a  little  distance  off,  something 


xxiv  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY  311 

black  loomed  through  the  fog  about  the  height  of 
the  mast's  yard,  —  something  black  which  rapidly- 
approached. 

"  It's  not  a  squall,"  said  Warriner,  quietly 
interrupting  his  music.  "  It's  a  rock.  I  know 
this  coast  well.  We  had  better  get  the  dinghy 
out  and  row  her  head  off." 

When  that  was  done,  he  squatted  again  upon 
the  deck  by  the  side  of  the  lantern,  and  played 
shrilly  upon  his  pipe  while  the  light  threw  a 
grotesque  reflection  of  his   figure  upon    the  fog. 

After  a  while  they  heard  the  Lizard-horn  abreast 
of  them  again. 

"  The  tide  has  turned,"  said  Warriner,  and  the 
Brixham  man  dived  hurriedly  into  the  well  for  the 
poor  fog-horn  which  the  boat  carried.  The  cutter 
drifted  out  stern-foremost  past  the  Lizard  rocks, 
and  in  a  little,  from  this  side  and  from  that,  ahead 
of  them,  astern,  they  heard  the  throb  of  engines  and 
the  hoarse  steam-whistles  of  the  Atlantic  cargo- 
boats  and  liners.  They  had  drifted  across  the  track 
of  the  ocean-going  steamers.  The  Brixham  man 
blew  upon  his  horn  till  his  lungs  cracked.  He 
relates  that  nothing  happened  until  three  o'clock, 
in  the  morning,  as  he  knows,  since  Warriner  just 
at  three  o'clock  took  his  watch  from  his  pocket 
and  looked  at  the  dial  by  the  lantern-light.  He 
mentions  too,  as  a  detail  which  struck  him  at  the 
time,  that  the  door  of  the  lantern  was  open,  and  so 
still  was  the  heavy  air  that  the  candle  burnt 
steadily  as  in  a  room.  At  three  o'clock  in  the 
morning  he  suddenly  saw  a  glimmering  flash  of 
white  upon  the  cutter's  beam.      For  a  fraction  of 


312  MIRANDA    OF   THE   BALCONY  chap. 

a  second  he  was  dazed.  Then  he  lifted  the  horn 
to  his  mouth,  and  he  was  still  lifting  it  —  so  small 
an  interval  was  there  of  time  —  when  a  huge  sharp 
wedge  cut  through  the  fog  and  towered  above  the 
cutter  out  of  sight.  The  wedge  was  the  bows  of 
an  Atlantic  liner.  No  one  on  that  liner  heard  the 
despairing,  interrupted  moan  of  the  tiny  fog-horn 
beneath  the  ship's  forefoot ;  no  one  felt  the  shock. 
The  Brixham  man  was  hurled  clear  of  the  steamer, 
and  after  swimming  for  the  best  part  of  an  hour 
was  picked  up  by  a  smack  which  he  came  upon  by 
chance.  Warriner's  body  was  washed  up  three 
days  later  upon  the  Lizard  rocks. 

This  history  did  not  reach  Charnock's  ears  for 
a  full  year  afterwards  ;  for  within  a  week  of  his 
arrival  in  London,  where  his  unexplained  dis- 
appearance had  puzzled  very  few,  since  he  was 
known  for  a  man  of  many  disappearances,  he  had 
started  off  to  Asia  Minor,  there  to  survey  the  line 
of  a  projected  railway.  The  railway  was  never 
more  than  projected,  and  after  a  year  the  survey 
was  abandoned.  Charnock  returned  to  London 
and  heard  the  story  of  Warriner's  death  from  Lady 
Donnisthorpe's  lips  at  her  last  reception  at  the  end 
of  the  season.  Lady  Donnisthorpe  was  irritated 
at  the  impassive  face  with  which  he  listened.  She 
was  yet  more  irritated  when  he  said  casually,  with- 
out any  reference  whatever  to  a  word  of  her 
narrative,  "  Who  is  that  girl  ?  I  think  I  have 
seen  her  before." 

Lady  Donnisthorpe  followed  the  direction  of  his 
eyes,  and  saw  a  young  girl  with  very  pale  gold 
hair.      Lady   Donnisthorpe  rose  from  her    chair. 


xxiv  MIRANDA    OF    THE   BALCONY  313 

"  Perhaps  you  would  like  me  to  introduce  you," 
she  said  with  sarcastic  asperity. 

"  I  should,"  replied  Charnock. 

Lady  Donnisthorpe  waved  her  hands  helplessly 
and  brushed  away  all  mankind.  She  led  Charnock 
across  the  room,  introduced  him,  and  left  him  with 
a  manner  of  extreme  coldness,  to  which  Charnock 
at  this  moment  was  quite  impervious. 

"  I  think  I  have  seen  you  here  before,"  said 
Charnock. 

"Yes,"  said  the  girl,  "I  remember.  It  was 
some  while  since.     Why  have  you  quarrelled  ?  " 

The  meaning  of  that  question  dawned  upon 
Charnock  gradually.  The  girl  with  the  gold  hair 
smiled  at  his  perplexity,  and  laughed  pleasantly  at 
his  comprehension. 

Charnock  looked  round  the  room. 

"  No,"  said  she. 

He  looked  towards  the  window,  and  the  window 
was  open. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  girl. 

Charnock  found  Miranda  upon  the  balcony. 


THE    END. 


THE 

COURTSHIP    OF    MAURICE    BUCKLER. 

A  ROMANCE 

Being  a  record  of  the  growth  of  an  English  Gentleman,  during  the  years 

of  1685-1687,  under  strange  and  difficult  circumstances,  written  some 

while  afterward  in  his  own  hand,  and  now  edited  by 

A.   E.   W.   MASON 

12mo.       Cloth.      $1.25 


Philadelphia  Evening  Bulletin  :  In  spirit  and  color  it  reminds 
us  of  the  very  remarkable  books  of  Mr.  Conan  Doyle.  The 
author  has  measurably  caught  the  fascinating  diction  of  the  sev- 
enteenth century,  and  the  strange  adventures  with  which  the 
story  is  filled  are  of  a  sufficiently  perilous  order  to  entertain  the 
most  Homeric  mind. 

Boston  Courier  :  In  this  elaborately  ingenious  narrative  the 
adventures  recorded  are  various  and  exciting  enough  to  suit 
the  most  exacting  reader.  The  incidents  recited  are  of  extreme 
interest,  and  are  not  drawn  out  into  noticeable  tenuity. 

The  Outlook  :  "  The  Courtship  of  Maurice  Buckler  "  is  not 
only  full  of  action  and  stimulating  to  curiosity,  but  tells  a  quite 
original  plot  in  a  clever  way.  Perhaps  in  its  literary  kinship  it 
approaches  more  closely  to  "  The  Prisoner  of  Zenda "  than  to 
any  other  recent  novel,  but  there  is  no  evidence  of  imitation ; 
the  resemblance  is  in  the  spirit  and  dash  of  the  narrative.  The 
merit  of  this  story  is  not  solely  in  its  grasp  on  the  reader's  atten- 
tion and  its  exciting  situations  ;  it  is  written  in  excellent  English, 
the  dialogue  is  natural  and  brisk,  the  individual  characters  stand 
out  clearly,  and  the  flavor  of  the  time  is  well  preserved. 


THE   MACMILLAN    COMPANY, 

66  FIFTH   AVENUE,  NEW  YORK. 


RICHARD   CARVEL 

By  WINSTON   CHURCHILL 

A  uthor  of  "  The  Celebrity  " 

Cloth.    8vo.    $1.50 


"  This  novel  is  the  most  extensive  piece  of  semi-historical  fiction  which  has  yet 
come  from  an  American  hand;  and  the  skill  with  which  the  materials  have  been 
handled  justifies  the  largeness  of  the  plan."  —  Hamilton  Mabie,  in  the  New  York 
Times. 

"  Mr.  Churchill  knows  his  London  of  the  last  century  thoroughly,  just  as  he  knows 
the  province  of  Maryland,  where  the  spirit  of  revolution  is  slowly  but  surely  develop- 
ing. .  .  .  Goldsmith  does  not  give  a  more  vivid  description  of  the  debtor's  jail  or 
De  Quincey  of  the  pitiless  heart  of  the  metropolis  than  is  found  in  the  volume  before 
us." —  Indianapolis  Sentinel. 

"  To  say  that  it  reminds  us  of  '  The  Virginians '  is  to  make  an  audacious  compari- 
son, but  one  which  will  naturally  occur  to  many  readers.  That  '  Richard  Carvel ' 
is  able  to  stand  the  comparison  is  a  great  feather  in  Mr.  Churchill's  cap.  ...  In 
short,  this  is  a  strong  and  notable  novel." —  The  News  and  Courier,  Charleston,  S.C. 

"  The  charm  of  the  book,  which  is  very  great,  lies  in  the  vividness  of  its  pictures  of 
the  life  of  London  and  the  colonies  in  those  picturesque  days.  The  characters  are 
alive.  One  feels  as  if  conning  the  pages  of  some  old  volume  of  the  Spectator."  — 
Washington  Times. 

"  The  style  achieves  the  direct,  smart,  frank,  quaint  vigor  of  the  old  times  which 
so  many  have  unsuccessfully  attempted."—  Boston  Transcript. 

"It  is  a  daring  thing  that  Winston  Churchill  has  done  in  his  novel  'Richard 
Carvel '  to  tread  the  path  made  smooth  by  Thackeray,  and,  withal,  to  do  it  so  well 
that  one  is  forced  to  admire  the  resemblance." —  The  Indianopolis  News. 

"  Cooper,  in  '  The  Spy,'  was  the  first  to  show  the  wealth  of  interesting  material  in 
the  Revolution,  and  his  broadly  blazed  trail  has  been  followed  in  recent  years  with 
great  success  by  Dr.  Weir  Mitchell,  Archdeacon  Brady,  and  J.  A.  Altsheler.  .  .  . 
To  this  small  circle  of  writers  of  American  historical  romance  must  now  be  added 
Winston  Churchill."  —  San  Francisco  Chronicle. 

"  '  Richard  Carvel'  may  in  time  become  a  classic  of  Maryland's  romantic  history." 

—  The  Bookman. 

"  '  Richard  Carvel '  is  one  of  the  most  brillant  works  of  imagination  of  the  decade." 

—  Philadelphia  Press. 

"  It  contains  besides  a  score  of  characters  which  are  worth  remembering,  and  a 
few  which  one  could  not  forget  if  one  should  try."  —  Commercial  Advertiser. 

"  The  adoption  of  the  autobiographic  form,  the  good-natured  diffuseness  of  the 
story,  the  antique  nobility  of  the  style,  as  well  as  the  locality,  remind  the  reader  of 
Henry  Esmond."  —  Picayune,  New  Orleans. 

"  This  is  emphatically  a  book  that  commands  attention  .  .  .  the  narrative  of 
the  great  fight  of  the  Bon  Homme  Richard  and  the  Serapis  is  a  spirited  piece  of 
writing." —  Springfield  Republican. 

" '  Richard  Carvel '  is  one  of  the  most  brilliant  works  of  imagination  of  the 
decade." —  The  Press,  Philadelphia. 

"  One  of  the  novels  that  are  not  made  for  a  day."  —  Chicago  Tribune. 

"  So  vigorous,  so  delicate  in  fancy  ...  as  '  Richard  Carvel.'  It  is  a  great 
story."  —  The  Daily  Eagle,  Brooklyn. 

"  Strong,  original,  and  delightful.  ...  It  is  a  charming  story."  —  Bufi'alo 
Commercial. 

"Pure  romance  of  the  most  captivating  and  alluring  order."  —  Boston  Herald. 


THE    MACMILLAN   COMPANY, 

66  FIFTH  AVENUE,  NEW  YORK. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 
Los  Angeles 

This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


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Form  L9-42m-8,'49(B5573)444 


THE  LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOB  ANGELES 


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3  1158  01302  0713 


